by Andrea Mara
“You better be right about that,” Michael warns him.
There are just two boxes left when Michael looks at his watch and says he needs to get the van back. He jumps into the driver’s seat, leaving Sam to carry the last two packages into the shed and lock up. Winking at his cousin, he passes him a twenty-pound note. “Buy Molly something nice with that. And don’t go near the boxes, sure you won’t? I’ll sort you out with any drink you need – but the packages have to stay intact or I can’t sell them on.”
“Jesus no, I wouldn’t touch them. Cheers for that,” says Sam, stuffing the note in his jeans pocket.
“I need to keep the key too – so I can get in and out. I’ll only come when no-one is here though, yeah?”
“Yeah, no worries.”
“Shit, do I need to stay here now so you can lock the shed after you?” Michael looks at his watch.
“No, you’re grand – there are two keys – I got an extra one cut.” Sam holds up the other key.
Michael pauses for a moment then starts the engine. “All right. But don’t be going in there, okay? Just leave it locked.”
Sam nods and waves him away, then carries the other two packages around to the shed. He pulls the twenty-pound note out again after he locks up – not bad for an hour’s work. This could be the start of something really, really good.
Chapter 54
Friday, October 5th 1990
One bloody week. What a fucking waste of time! Michael can’t park the van in the driveway this time in case they come home, so it’s up the road near the laneway. Carrying the boxes all the way up there is hard work and cursing John as he does each trip isn’t making it any easier. So much for Sam’s certainty that his da wouldn’t need the key.
The stack in the shed is reduced to about half when he hears the car in the driveway, but it’s just after nine – they should have been another hour. He switches off the light in the shed and stands in the dark. The kitchen light goes on and he ducks down. Sam is filling a glass of water and looking out, trying to be casual. The light goes off again. They must be sitting down now in the front room – he’d better wait another while though. Lighting a cigarette, he shuffles from one foot to the other to stay warm – it’s cold in there when he’s not lifting and carrying. Then he hears the back door open, and footsteps.
“Is someone there?”
John.
Michael hunches down beside the packages and waits. The door handle of the shed is moving now, and then the door is pushed open.
John presses the switch and light floods the small space.
“Jesus!” John says, jumping back.
Michael stands up.
“It’s only me, Uncle John. It’s Michael, sorry I scared you.”
“Michael! What are you doing? I saw a match flare from upstairs and thought maybe a tramp had taken up residence. What’s going on? What’s all this?” He points at the packages.
Michael doesn’t answer.
“Michael, what’s going on?”
“Nothing. I just called over and no-one was here so I decided to wait in the shed instead of out in the cold. Sorry about the smoking.” He stands on the cigarette butt.
“But what are all these boxes?”
“I’m selling schoolbooks. I got them cheap and Sam’s giving me a hand to sell them on to kids in his class at school.”
“You don’t actually expect me to swallow that, do you? Since when are teenagers interested in buying cheap schoolbooks?”
Michael shrugs his shoulders. “Even rich kids like to make a saving every now and then, John.” He watches as John’s eyes travel across the boxes and then down to the toolbox on the floor.
They both see the box-cutter at the same time, and Michael reaches for it but he’s not quick enough – John is nearer. He pulls it out and cuts into the nearest box. Brown powder trickles out onto the floor, picking up momentum as the seconds go by.
“What is this?”
“Salt. Well, cigarettes. The salt protects the cigarettes. I’m sorry about this, Uncle John. I sell them to make a bit of extra cash on the side. I know you’re disappointed with me. And it’s not Sam’s fault – I talked him into letting me store them here. I’m truly sorry.”
“That’s not salt.” John cuts deeper into the box. “And there are no cigarettes inside.”
Michael says nothing.
“Is this what I think it is?”
Still Michael doesn’t reply.
John steps outside and Michael hears footsteps go up the garden path, then a creaking noise, then a gush.
When John reappears, he has a hose in his hands, and he trains the water on the packages.
“Don’t do it.” Michael’s voice is like steel.
But John ignores him, drenching every single box in water until they’re all soaked through. Brown powder becomes brown mud, all over the floor of the shed.
“Now, I’m going inside. You clean up this mess – I don’t care how you get rid of it as long as this place is spotless in the morning. And don’t come near this house again. I won’t say anything to Claire – it would break her heart – but you stay away from here, or I’ll tell them all – Claire, Bella, and the Guards. You’re just like your dad!” He spits the last words. “There’s only one place you’re going to end up, and I always knew it. Stay way from my family – you are poison.”
The shed is deathly quiet once John storms back up to the house and slams the back door.
The brown mud underfoot mocks Michael – thousands of pounds literally down the drain. And Michael will have to pay for this, but he won’t be the only one.
Chapter 55
Sam – Tuesday, July 26th 2016
Sam is wrecked. Wrecked after a long day at work. Wrecked after another late night with Michael. Probably wrecked from eating crap food too. Turning the key in the lock, he has a sudden longing for a grilled chicken salad and an empty house. Maybe Michael will be gone out – perhaps with the mysterious laughing girlfriend.
But Michael is where he is every evening now, sitting at the kitchen table. He has his laptop open, and closes it when Sam comes in.
“How’s it going? Any post today?” Sam asks.
The usual evening greeting – they’re like a married couple, though with a lot more beer and junk food.
“No post, but there’s a note for you there.” Michael nods towards the empty coffee jar sitting on the island.
Sam picks it up the piece of paper and unfolds it.
You utter shit. I can’t explain how hurt, how angry, how betrayed I feel right now. If you had to do it, couldn’t you have had the decency to keep it out of our house? Moving your slut in is disgusting, beyond anything I’d ever have imagined you doing. Do not under any circumstances try to contact me or the boys. Consider us gone.
Sam looks up at Michael, then down at the letter again. It’s Kate’s writing, but it must be a prank.
“Where did this come from – did you write it?”
“No, it was here when I got in from town earlier. I guess someone who has a key to the house dropped it in – your neighbour maybe?”
“No, it’s not from a neighbour – it’s from Kate – well, supposedly. But it must be some kind of piss-take – I don’t get it.”
“Why, what does it say?”
Sam shows him the note.
Michael whistles and shakes his head. “Jesus, Sam – what did you do?”
“Come on – did you write it?”
“No way – not me. Whose writing is it?”
“It’s Kate’s – but she can’t have written it. She’s down in Galway, and even if she was here, what the hell is it about? She thinks I’m having an affair?”
“Seems so. Are you?” Michael asks.
“No! Of course not! Jesus, do I look like the kind of guy who has affairs? This is insane. I’ll try calling her. Shit, I don’t have my phone – did you see it around today? I couldn’t find it when I was leaving this morning.”
&n
bsp; “No, I didn’t see it – I’ll keep an eye out though.”
“Can I borrow yours?”
“Sure, it’s upstairs, I’ll grab it now,” Michael says, getting up from the chair. “Oh hang on, I’m totally out of call credit. I meant to go to the shop earlier but I forgot.”
“Can’t you top up online or something?”
Michael just looks at him blankly. All those computer lessons and he can’t even top up his phone. Sam sits down, running a hand through his hair.
“I need to speak to her. Where would she even get the notion that I’m having an affair? This is the most ludicrous thing that has ever happened. Someone must have told her something – but why would anyone do that?”
Michael takes a beer from the fridge and passes it to Sam. “I don’t know what’s going on, but we’ll figure it out. Have you been speaking to her recently?”
“Yes, last night. She was totally, totally normal. Well, like she’s still annoyed at me for not going down last weekend but there was nothing like this.”
“Okay, and how have things been going over the last while?”
“You know yourself – not great over the summer but we’re both stressed with the move. It’s been a tough few months. She doesn’t like being at home, even though she’s the one who wanted to do it in the first place.” Sam opens the beer and pauses. “I suppose she’s been quite distant for a while now . . . and when she does pay attention, she seems annoyed with me. But like, this is a whole other level. An affair! It sounds ridiculous. Like something from TV.”
“Well, she obviously thinks you are. Or maybe it’s something else.”
“What do you mean?” Sam asks, his head in his hands.
“Could it be that she wants a break, and didn’t know how to say it? Accusing you of seeing someone else solves that, doesn’t it?”
Sam looks up. “Ah listen, I know things haven’t been going great, but I can’t see Kate making up a story like this – she’d be more upfront.”
“Could it be that she’s met someone – down in Galway? Might be why she’s been distant over the last few months?”
Sam shakes his head and tries to order his thoughts. Could it be about Nina? Kate couldn’t possibly know about Nina.
“I’ll drive to Galway,” he decides, pushing away the untouched beer. “If I leave now, I’ll be there just after nine. I’ll get her to talk to me face to face.”
“That’s not a good idea,” Michael says. “She’s angry, you’re upset. Leave it till morning. Driving in this state wouldn’t even be safe.”
“No, I’ll go tonight. I’ll never sleep anyway, worrying and wondering.”
Michael sighs. “She clearly said she doesn’t want you to contact her. I really think you should wait – give it a few days.”
“I know you’re trying to help, Michael, but this is my marriage, and I need to resolve it my way.”
Michael sits across from him, looking, but saying nothing. Sam suddenly has the image of a reptile in his head – bulbous eyes, unblinking. A lizard, or a snake.
“I’m going to grab a few things upstairs,” he says, pushing out his chair.
Still Michael says nothing.
Later, when he thinks back, Sam can see the signs of what was to come, but not now. Now he’s only thinking of fixing things with Kate. He turns and goes upstairs, leaving Michael at the kitchen table.
In his room, he throws a clean shirt into a holdall in case he stays over – he can leave early in the morning and still make it back to the office on time. His phone isn’t on the locker or the dresser, nor in any of the drawers. That doesn’t make sense – he definitely had it last night. He hears the back door open downstairs – Michael going for a cigarette. Shit – if Kate was in the house today, she probably smelled the stale smoke. Anyway, that’s the least of his worries. What else should he take – maybe Seth’s birthday present? Then he hears the soft creak of someone coming up the stairs. What does Michael want now, he wonders, throwing some socks into the holdall – that was a very speedy cigarette. He’s conscious of Michael standing in the doorway, but doesn’t turn around – there’s no time for another debate. Transferring pyjamas and a wash-bag from bed to bag, he ignores him. But eventually, unnerved by the silence, he turns.
Michael is standing in the doorway, watching. And for reasons Sam can’t work out, he has a sledgehammer in his hand.
“I think it’s time,” Michael says.
He walks towards him, and with shocking speed he swings the sledgehammer towards Sam’s left knee.
Sam screams in pain and shock as he falls to the floor, clutching his shattered knee. He stares up at his cousin. Michael’s mouth is moving, but he can’t work out what he’s saying. The pain is like nothing he has ever felt or imagined. Then, horrified, he watches as Michael swings the sledgehammer again. This time it comes crashing down on his right knee, as he lies on the floor, unable to move out of the way. The pain is unbearable. Sam screams again. Bright lights dance in front of his eyes, and his own voice sounds distant and alien to him. Somewhere beneath the pain, a question. Why? Then, as he finally loses consciousness, the room goes dark.
Chapter 56
Sam – Wednesday, July 27th
Darkness and pain. Nausea. Background noise. A police siren. Or an ambulance? Is he in hospital? Has he been in an accident? His brain tries to grab tufts of memory as they swirl by, but fails. Another siren, and voices – doctors? He can’t tell if his eyes are open or not. Where is Kate? Something stirs in his memory. Michael? Is Michael with him? The doctors are speaking but sound faint in the background. Then louder.
“I’m sorry, we did everything we could, but we weren’t able to save him.”
But he’s not dead – he can hear them!
Sam wills his eyes to open, begging the fog to lift. He hears a low moan – it’s coming from him. Surely they can hear that? His eyelids lift briefly then close. He tries again, and again. This time he keeps his eyes open, squinting in the darkness. There’s a light up above, in a corner of the room. Voices again. Someone beside him. He tries to turn his head but a surge of nausea stops him. Focus. Focus. The doctors’ voices are gone now and he can hear music in their place. His eyes are drawn to the light in the corner. A television. The credits are rolling. The loud, familiar theme tune of Casualty. No doctors, no ambulances, not in real life. Just this room, his own spare room. And Michael.
Sam slips in and out of sleep all morning – or is it unconsciousness, he wonders, during the interim moments of lucidity. He’s heard of people’s bodies shutting down to deal with pain – maybe that’s what’s happening. Michael had injected him with something at one point – poison? He’d tried to pull away, but couldn’t move. If Michael had wanted to kill him, he’d have smashed his head in with the sledgehammer, but nothing makes sense any more.
The next time he wakes, Michael is not there. He tries to lift his head to look around – it’s stiff, and every movement brings fresh waves of nausea. The pain in his knees is red hot but more bearable than before – maybe because of whatever Michael has injected. Somehow he can see his legs – he’s wearing shorts now – how can that be? But on closer inspection, they’re his work trousers, cut into makeshift shorts. His knees are red and black and purple and swollen – he looks away and focuses on the room around him instead. It’s darker than usual – Michael has pulled the old wardrobe across the window. Beyond that, the room looks like it always does – magnolia walls, beige carpet, white bed linen and matching white curtains. The small television on the wall. The little white bedside locker. The only dash of colour is the old-fashioned blue vase in the corner: a wedding present Kate didn’t like but couldn’t throw out – perfect for a spare room where nobody would ever see it. A nondescript room, typical of guest-bedrooms everywhere. And no evidence that Michael has been staying here at all. He must have moved his stuff out. Is he leaving – maybe he’s gone? Small buds of hope begin to filter through Sam’s still-foggy mind, and he looks
on the bedside locker for his phone. Not there. He reaches carefully into his trouser pockets, slowly, one at a time – no phone there either. Then he remembers it was already missing before any of this happened. The brief flicker of hope is replaced with panic – what if Michael is gone for good and he has no way to call anyone? Has he left him here to die alone? He needs to shout for help. He swallows – his throat and lips are dry, as though he’s been out all night drinking. He tries to make a sound, then to form a word.
“Help!” It comes out like a whimper. He tries again. “Help! Help me!” A little louder this time, but still no more than a whisper. There’s no hope that anyone will hear. Deep breath. “Help!” he croaks.
Footsteps on the stairs. It’s Michael. Of course it’s Michael.