Twisted River

by Siobhan MacDonald

  Jesus.

  Mannix steadied himself, feeling his knees about to buckle. He read the texts again. Christ, no! This couldn’t be right. He was misinterpreting. But already his head was full of horrible images. He was reading too much into the words, he must have read them wrongly. But after a third and rapid scan, the meaning of the words was sinking in, their significance ever more terrifying.

  As only Mannix could know, the texts had a hidden meaning. Though the messages were disguised, they had a certain logic. The awful truth was there in front of him. And yet Mannix was the only one who knew. He felt himself go clammy and he started to perspire. This whole day had taken a terribly wrong turn.

  “Mannix!” shouted Kate from the bedroom.

  He was going to have to tell Kate. He was going to have to tell her now.

  “Coming,” he called, as he splashed cold water on his face from the tap in the kitchen. Mannix walked slowly to the bedroom. He would tell her now. He’d somehow find the words.

  “I’ve got something to show you,” said Kate, sitting on the bed. She was holding something in her lap.

  “What’s that?”

  He allowed himself to be distracted.

  “It’s a diary. It’s Hazel Harvey’s diary . . .”

  Taken aback, Mannix sat on the bed. His stomach was churning. “I dunno, Kate, isn’t that disrespectful?” He stalled for time.

  “Yes, Mannix, of course it is. And in the normal run of events, I wouldn’t dream of it. But whatever is going on here, it’s a far cry from any kind of normal. A bloody far cry indeed.” Kate was shaking her head.

  Mannix stared at her, and opened his mouth to speak, but she continued.

  “This was the book that Hazel had left behind. The one from the other night—that Du Bois asked us to take up to the apartment here, remember?”

  He nodded.

  “I didn’t realize,” said Kate. “I had no idea what it was. I had a quick flick through, I didn’t mean to pry. I meant to put it down but something caught my eye. And I didn’t say anything to you at the time because I felt like I was spying, and I know how much you hate gossip . . .”

  What was Kate talking about? Was all of this really necessary, with everything else going on? He felt his eyes glaze over.

  “Mannix, are you all right? You’re sweating . . .”

  “It’s just that it’s a bit hot in here. Don’t you think it hot?”

  “I’ll turn down the controls. Just you read this page and the following three or four. All the entries are about the same time, all in September.” Kate laid the open diary on his lap.

  Finding it difficult to concentrate, he let his eyes come into focus and rest on the open page. As he followed the handwriting, he could see why Kate had been so disturbed.

  Hazel Harvey had been a woman in distress. In some considerable emotional and physical distress. A surge of surprise ran through him as he read. It was all here. Verbal abuse. The punch in the stomach. Her head smacked up against a wall. A bruised throat and face. An initial reluctance followed by an inability to return to work. He read on. Hazel mentioned a friend called Elizabeth who was advising her. Advising her to go the authorities.

  An able writer, Hazel clearly communicated the fear and the naked violence that was being waged against her. And yet for some reason, Hazel Harvey was reluctant to leave him. Reluctant to call time on her marriage. In Mannix’s eyes, there were fewer creatures further down the food chain than men who beat their women. Hazel Harvey had clearly seen the holiday in Ireland as an effort to patch up her toxic marriage.

  “Well, what do you think?” Kate came back with a glass of ice water.

  “I can see where you’re coming from, Kate,” he said, head pounding and heart racing.

  “So, are you thinking what I’m thinking?” she asked.

  Mannix didn’t answer. Already his head was in another place, another time. He was thinking back to his forty-third birthday. The day he ran like a scalded cat from Joanne Collins’s flat.

  • • •

  It was nearing the end of August 2011 and Mannix was almost forty-three. Everyone had assumed he was morose because he was unhappy about getting older. Kate had noticed it. Spike had noticed it. Even the kids had noticed it.

  “How’s tricks? Midlife crisis, is it, Mannix?” asked cheeky Jim, the newly employed building maintenance guy.

  “Listen, you little shite, don’t think because you’ve been taken on as permanent, you can speak to your elders like that!” Mannix told him.

  “Ah, sure, you’ll be getting an open-top car that’s too small for you next, and a bit of a young one on the side . . .”

  He’d glared at Jim, who realized then that he’d gone too far. Things in Mannix’s life were far from simple at the moment. This latest business with Joanne had really freaked him out. Mannix suddenly realized the damage of false expectation, the folly of living in such a fantasy. And he was genuinely fearful of where Joanne had thought this thing they had was going.

  Joanne hadn’t played by the rules. The rules were no commitment, no expectation. This was not a relationship. It was a thing. A sex thing. Mannix had his family. Joanne had Grace. But he had been misled. He thought about that awful evening after work. It had struck him like a thunderbolt then, just how stupid he’d been. Why did he think he’d be the one to get away with it? But there was no way Mannix could have expected that.

  He could still see it now. The blue and white iced cake. The squiggly icing piped around the sides. Four white candles. The piped blue writing. And those three words. Happy Birthday Daddy. He remembered staring dumbstruck and then looking at Grace’s smiling face. Poor little Grace. No three words had ever struck such terror in his heart. He’d turned on his heel and run from the flat, unable to deal with the shock. Unable to deal with the monumental leap that Joanne had made.

  “You are kidding me, Manny?” Spike had said when he told him. “Joanne Collins?” Spike shook his head in disbelief. “Joanne Collins, of all people—that mad dancer from out in County Limerick?”

  Mannix hung his head. He didn’t know if Joanne was from out the county or not. He really knew precious little about her. Here’s what Mannix knew: Joanne had a great body. They had a bit of a laugh together. He enjoyed the sex. Beyond that he didn’t care. But poor Grace. Why did she have to be brought into it? That had altered everything.

  “But I could have told you all about her, Manny. That woman has form . . .” Spike speaking sagely and shaking his head.

  “What does that mean?”

  Mannix had a feeling he wouldn’t like what he was going to hear.

  “Well, bro, she’s a stage five clinger, for a start. Joanne Collins has been in and out of my nightclub for years. Desperate to find a man. Prefers the married guys for some reason. All the guys she’s been with before had wives and families. Last I knew, she was with that property developer J. J. Hogan.”

  All the guys she’d been with before? Wives? Families? The words were ringing in Mannix’s ears. Mocking him. J. J. Hogan? Christ, she’d been there? That guy was a tube. The more he thought about it, the more he realized what a fool he had been. So Mannix had just been another gullible candidate in a long line of liaisons?

  “What am I going to do here, Spike?”

  Mannix really had no feel for quite how worried he needed to be. Maybe it wouldn’t be a problem. He could extricate himself gently and Joanne might be content to let things slide, upset at first, but sensitively handled, she might let him go, and after an interval, she’d be ready to move on to the next guy.

  “You need to make it plain that this is over,” said Spike. “I don’t know what stunts she’s pulled in the past but I never heard of one like this. She obviously really likes you, Manny. And it sounds like her kid certainly does.”

  “Thanks, Spike. Just what I wanted to hear. That reall
y helps,” he said sarcastically.

  “You asked,” said Spike.

  “Look, I’m sure I’ll think of something,” said Mannix, “but do you think she’s likely to cause me trouble?”

  “Tell Kate, you mean?”

  “Exactly.”

  The very thought of it made him shiver. He couldn’t—no, he wouldn’t—even contemplate it.

  Spike appeared to give his worry some consideration. “No . . . no, I don’t think so,” he said. “Look, Manny, I can’t say for sure but I don’t think the woman is a home wrecker. I never heard of any of the other guys’ wives ever finding out. But like I say . . .” He left the sentence hanging.

  There it was again, that phrase, “the other guys.” Mannix had known it was only sex, a bit of fun, a beer or a glass of red wine or two. So why did he feel sullied and cheap? Had he really expected this woman to be his little secret? Why shouldn’t she have a past? It was a free world. Why shouldn’t she sleep with whoever she wanted? And yet Mannix couldn’t now get that picture out of his head. Joanne with J. J. Hogan. Loudmouthed, smarmy J. J. Hogan, who owed money to half the town.

  Spike ran a hand over his stubbly chin. “I must say I’m a trifle surprised at you, Manny. I always thought that you and Kate were good.”

  “We were. That is to say, we are.” He suddenly felt defensive. “It’s just that in the last year, with the money hassles and everything, I guess I took my eye off the ball.”

  “Don’t talk to me about hassle. I’ve got those psycho Bolgers breathing down my neck.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” said Mannix. “But I do love her, Spike. I do love Kate.”

  “She’d have your guts for garters, Manny . . .”

  “Please!” Mannix held up a hand signaling Spike to stop.

  “I’m just saying.”

  “Well, don’t.”

  “It’s not as if you’re a saint yourself, Spike,” Mannix added.

  “But I’m not the one who’s married, Manny.”

  Mannix was taken by surprise. Spike was giving him that look. The look that Kate sometimes gave him. The disappointed look—the look he absolutely hated. Such opprobrium from his laid-back brother stung.

  “I don’t get you, Spike . . .” Mannix shook his head.

  “Ah, jeez, Manny. Marriage isn’t for me, even I know that. I’m not cut out for it.” Spike blew a smoke ring in the air. “But you—I looked up to you, Manny. I thought you and Kate would make a go of it. You, Kate, and the kids. Hell, Manny—you guys are the only decent family I’ve got. It means a lot to me, Mannix, you know . . .”

  Mannix sat stunned by his brother’s outburst. Spike was not given to such frank exchanges. Serious matters were normally only hinted at or approached sideways. Rarely full-on.

  Spike stubbed out his cigarette and looked Mannix solemnly in the eye. “I know I act the maggot. I know I play Kate up from time to time. But you’re my family.” He paused. “Hey, where would I go to watch my Man U matches? I enjoy those winter evenings on the couch—you, me, and Ferg. Where would I go for my Christmas dinner?” Spike laughed, half joking, half serious.

  “Stop it, Spike!” Mannix’s heart had started to race. “Stop painting a doomsday scenario! Kate doesn’t know anything. And that’s the way it’s going to stay.”

  “Well, I hope so, Mannix. For all our sakes. You’d better sort it out, bro.”

  “Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

  “Good. Kate’s one of the good guys, you know, Mannix. She’s a great girl.”

  “Enough, okay! I get the message.”

  Mannix left Spike’s flat, grubby, dejected, and very worried. So, was he safe? He didn’t know. He would have to think very carefully how he was going to phrase his exit speech, his get-out-of-jail-free speech.

  And the way it happened, it was Joanne who made the first move. It was the second-ever e-mail she’d sent him, having agreed that she wouldn’t again use his company e-mail. They had agreed to communicate by text. Perhaps by breaking that arrangement and e-mailing him again, it might concentrate his attention even more.

  In the slew of e-mails in his in-box, hers was the one that clamored for attention. Mannix blinked and blinked, hoping it would melt away, be swallowed by the screen, flip and twist, invert and fade, in some fancy animation.

  “We need to talk.”

  That’s what it said. “We need to talk.” Mannix sat at his desk, repeating the words again and again to himself.

  “Give it to her straight,” Spike had said. “Give it to her straight and then get out. Don’t look back.”

  Mannix had replied by text, agreeing to meet her in the flat in Pery Square on one condition. It would be only the two of them. Grace could not be there. Mannix felt shoddy. How could he look that child in the eye again after running out on her surprise? How could he explain that he could never be her father? It struck him then just how preposterous the whole notion was. And again he asked himself, for the millionth time, what had Joanne been thinking of?

  Mannix had enough on his plate with two kids of his own. But perhaps that was not entirely fair. Izzy generally never caused a moment’s angst or bother. He smiled and tooted the car horn as he dropped her off outside Girl Guides. She hadn’t seemed particularly talkative in the car tonight but he supposed he was so preoccupied himself, he couldn’t say for sure.

  But Fergus. Fergus made up for all the lack of demands that Izzy made on them emotionally. There were times that just being in his company, Mannix could feel his energy slowly draining away. It wasn’t a thought he’d ever felt inclined to share with Kate. Her love was truly unconditional. He sometimes wondered at his own. This evening there had been yet another dimension to their troubles with Fergus. All because of that little scumbag Frankie Flynn. As soon as the business with Joanne was sorted, he’d get on to that.

  His thoughts turned to Grace. Grace was a nice kid. She liked art and crosswords and baking. He remembered helping her with a crossword puzzle for homework when Joanne couldn’t answer the clue. He complimented a poster she’d done in a calendar competition. She’d made him flapjacks once. But that hardly constituted being in loco parentis, now, did it? Mannix could not think of a single instance where he’d intentionally led them on. In fact, he’d always felt embarrassed when Grace was around, preferring instead to call when he knew she’d have gone to bed. No, he’d examined his conscience and satisfied himself that in Grace’s regard, he had nothing to blame himself for. Whatever had happened was down to Joanne. It was her doing.

  “I had Grace stay at my sister’s,” said Joanne, opening the basement door. “She’s about the only one I could trust with Grace’s meds.”

  Oh, great. He was at an instant disadvantage. The guilt treatment from the outset.

  “Sorry,” he mumbled. “I just thought it might be best if she wasn’t here. After . . . after . . .”

  “Yeah, I know. After last time.” Joanne ushered him into the kitchen. She wore a white cotton shift dress and no shoes. “She was pretty upset, you know.”

  “Well, so was I.” Perhaps it was best if he went on the defensive right away.

  “You were?”

  She looked at him in surprise, handing him a glass of red wine that had already been poured.

  “Why? Pray tell . . .”

  Mannix sat down at the kitchen table. He noticed then that the only light in the room was from the scattering of night-light candles flickering magically all around the room.

  “Because it was never supposed to be about Grace. It was only ever supposed to be about us. And Joanne, if you really want to know, I feel really bad about it. I feel really bad about Grace. She’s a nice kid and I like her.”

  “I know you do. And she likes you, Mannix.”

  The skin on her arms was taut and golden in the yellow half-light as she reached across the table to stroke his ha
nd. He had to tell her now, before things went too far.

  “Look, Joanne. I think we have to call time on this thing we have. I really think it’s for the best.”

  She looked at him in surprise as if what he said were entirely unexpected.

  “Call time? This thing we have? I don’t understand, Mannix. Really, I don’t. What we have going here is way more than just a thing. You, me, and Grace. We’re a team.”

  “What?” Mannix heard himself croak. It was his turn to look shocked now. It was surely time for the velvet excuse, the soft-soap parting salvo. He was going to have to move quickly.

  “No. Joanne. Let me stop you right there.” He put a hand on her arm. With her other hand she held it there.

  “Maybe in another life. Maybe if we’d met before. This thing . . . us . . . it’s just unfortunate . . . It’s all just an accident of timing.” He looked into her eyes. Trying to look sincere. “But I’ve got my own kids, Joanne. You know that. I’ve got Fergus and Izzy.”

  “I know, Mannix. Don’t you think I know that? And Grace knows that too.”

  Joanne was looking at the mantelpiece above the French stove. She was smiling. Mannix followed her gaze, trying to see what it was that made her smile. But what he saw made him shiver. He felt suddenly afraid.

  Was it what he thought it was?

  Standing up and walking closer, Mannix plucked the frame from the shelf. How had she come by this? Mannix stared at the familiar faces looking back at him. It was a photo of him with Fergus and Izzy, but there was something both odd and familiar about it at the same time. With a start, it came to him. It was the photo that he carried in his wallet of the four of them. Except that this photo on Joanne’s mantelpiece didn’t feature Kate. Kate had been cut out.

  “Where did you get this?” Mannix asked, his voice shaking.