by Shane Dunphy
‘Well, we must do something, I think.’
‘What would you propose, Doctor?’ Josephine asked.
I could tell she wasn’t happy with the way the review was going, but I didn’t know why.
‘Well, this young man seems to have been the primary worker. Let’s hear what he has to say. What do you feel would be the best course of action, Mr Dunphy?’
‘I want us to apply for a Supervision Order.’
‘Could we ever stand over it?’ Josephine asked ‘The house is an extremely volatile environment.’
‘That’s what they want us to think, Jo. You’ve heard the reports here today. Mr and Mrs Kelly are more or less at equilibrium. Why is it that they always seem to have an episode when one of us is there? I think it’s because they’re hiding something, and don’t want us around.’
‘I’m not sure if that’s true, but they are most certainly not a serious risk at the moment,’ Dr Maloney said. ‘Why don’t we get them in here and see what they have to say?’
Mr and Mrs Kelly were scarcely recognisable. They were clean, well-groomed and smartly dressed. They were introduced to everyone, and each of us gave a summarised and de-jargonised account of what had been said. The Kellys said very little during this, except to explain that Connie had chosen not to attend and to ask Dr Maloney a few questions. They seemed to be very anxious to please him and he in turn was polite and pleasant with them. I sensed that there was a genuine fondness there, and I was glad. It was good that at least one of the professionals involved had some affection for them. They were a difficult and unloved couple, and perhaps that had contributed to the problems they had experienced.
When each of us had spoken, Josephine broached the issue of the Supervision Order. In fairness to her, she said that the request was coming from the group – it would have been easy to blame me, but she didn’t. The Kellys looked at her blankly. They didn’t know what a Supervision Order was.
‘This means that, if the Order is granted, the judge would say that a health board person, Shane there for example, would have to come and see Connie on a regular basis, and that when he came, you would have to let him into the house and not make life difficult for him when he got there.’
We all waited for their response. For a moment it seemed that they were still uncertain as to what we were talking about. Then Mrs Kelly started wailing. Her face did not crumple like other people’s do when they start crying; she just opened her mouth and noise came out. She also began to rock. As she did so the table we were all sitting around thumped and thudded on the floor as her gut rebounded off its edge where she sat. Mr Kelly continued to sit next to her, smiling benignly at everyone. The review meeting was over. If anyone had been in doubt about the need for a Supervision Order, they were not any more. Despite themselves, the Kellys had made my point for me.
After the meeting, I decided to act on a hunch, one that I hoped would further enlighten me as to what was really going on with Connie.
I parked my car half a mile up the road from the estate, just inside a narrow laneway and out of sight from the road, and then walked the distance to the horseshoe of houses. But I didn’t go to the Kelly house. I went right across the road and knocked on the door of a little bungalow.
Mrs Jones was a tiny woman, stooped with age and almost bald. She leaned on her walking stick and squinted up at me in the waning evening light, and I saw that she had a wispy beard of white hair. I was reminded of Yoda, from the Star Wars movies.
‘What?’ she asked, peering at me, looking puzzled.
‘Mrs Jones, I’m a friend of Connie’s. Can I step in for a moment?’
A look of panic spread across her face and she peered around me at number 8.
‘No! You have to go! I know who you are, and you have to go. If they see you here, I’ll be in trouble. They won’t care that I’m an old woman. That won’t matter to them. Now go away. Shoo!’
‘Mrs Jones, no one knows I’m here. Mr and Mrs Kelly are in town, and I know that Mick is away having tests done. You are completely safe.’
She glanced about suspiciously and then beckoned me in, closing the door quickly and shuffling down the hall to the kitchen. She sat on a kitchen chair and looked at me expectantly.
‘What do you want with me?’
‘Connie tells me you’ve been very good to her.’
‘Yes. That’s not a crime, is it?’
‘I’m not a policeman, Mrs Jones.’
‘She is a sweet child who has suffered. My own children are long gone. I’m alone in this vale of tears. She is company for me – and she’s safe here.’
‘Safe from what? How has she suffered?’
‘You won’t get that from me. Enough to say she comes and sleeps here and she knows her rest will not be disturbed.’
‘She comes every night?’
‘She has not slept in that house for three years now.’
‘I didn’t know that.’
‘Well, you do now. You must go. I have nothing further to tell you. You leave me alone now.’
‘What’s going on over there, Mrs Jones? I want to help her – I want to stop it, whatever it is. If you tell me, I can do something about it.’
‘You are a foolish young man. You will only make things worse, worse for all of us. We have ways of doing things, around here, that you would not understand. She’s safe with me.’
‘Not all the time. Where is she now?’
‘She’s all right.’
‘Is she here?’
Something flitted across her eyes. It was only a tiny movement, but I caught it. She had shown me straight into the kitchen. I didn’t know how many rooms were in these little houses, but there were at least three more than the one we were in. I figured that Connie was either in the living room or the bedroom. I decided not to push her on it.
‘Will you tell her something for me, Mrs Jones? Tell her I only want what’s best for her. I know that bad things have happened to her, and probably still are happening from time to time. If she’ll just talk to me … I want to help.’
Mrs Jones remained impassive on her chair. I had no idea whether or not I had made any impression on her.
‘I’ll see myself out.’
I moved as quickly as I could to the road so that none of the neighbours could get a good look at me. I stopped to light a cigarette, and as I did I glanced back at the bungalow. The edge of one of the curtains was pulled back for a second as someone looked out. I flicked the lid of my Zippo closed and put it back in my pocket, gazing at that window. Was it Connie? If it was, she’d heard what I had said. Maybe it would make a difference. Maybe.
I started back towards my car. When I got there, one of my tyres was flat, with a long slash right through to the tube. Someone had spotted me, after all, and wanted to let me know. I looked around the hedges and ditches to see if I could spy anyone. If the culprit was there, that person silently watched me change the wheel, listening as I cursed loudly and colourfully.
I rang Father Dashiell, the McCoy’s parish priest.
‘No one has seen Max in several weeks’, he said.
‘Father, it’s imperative that I speak to him. I’ve managed to secure a place for him in the detox centre again. Their conditions are that he must make contact with them himself and convince them that he’s a willing participant. Do you have a key to his house?’
‘No. I don’t know anyone who has a spare. He is a very private man. I have no idea whether or not he is at his house, or has gone back to England. I would think that some delicate questioning at the local off-licence may bear some fruit. I believe – I believe that he is at his lowest ebb, at the moment. The loss of his children has been a sore trial.’
‘I understand that. It was necessary, Father. If there had been another way …’
‘Of course. I hope you find him. He needs all the help he can get.’
‘I’ll find him.’
I borrowed Francesca’s car. She had never worked with Max, and h
e wouldn’t know the car as a health board vehicle. At eleven o’clock on a Tuesday morning I did as the good Father had suggested and stopped off at the local off-licence. They saw Max almost daily. That meant, as I had suspected, that he was holed up in the house.
All the curtains were drawn. The window through which Victor had climbed had been repaired. I parked slightly up the road, turned off the engine, and waited. I had brought along some sandwiches, a flask of coffee and I had all the time in the world.
Two hours later the sandwiches were eaten, the coffee was drunk, I was bursting to go to the toilet and I was bored out of my mind. I had a book in the back, but I was afraid to read it in case I missed Max when he came out. For the same reason, I was unwilling to nip down the road to the nearest pub to use the toilet.
An hour and a half later, I decided To hell with it! and went into the pub, buying a box of cigarettes while I was there. I reasoned that he had to walk past the pub to get to the off-licence, so I would see him on the way back. Feeling somewhat relieved but somewhat ineffective, I returned to my post.
At eight o’clock that night, Max walked stiffly out of his front door. He looked utterly wretched, a scraggy, unkempt beard that was more neglect than design covering his chin, a filthy pair of jeans hanging off his arse and a jumper that looked like it had not seen a washing machine in many months about his torso. He turned right at the gate and walked towards town. I let him get a good distance ahead, and then drove past him, keeping him in sight in the rear-view mirror. I parked across from the off-licence and waited. Max had to go this way, so if he was, in fact, shopping for bread or milk, I would see him going into the corner shop as opposed to the liquor store. Unfortunately, groceries were not his target this evening, and he turned into the off-licence as expected. I got out of the car and followed him in.
He had, apparently, not spent much time browsing the shelves, because when I went in he was already at the counter, a bottle of bargain-bin vodka being put into a brown paper bag for him. I waited for him to turn and see me. His eyes met mine, but he did not say hello, and pushed past me on to the street. I followed him and grabbed his shoulder.
‘Jesus Christ, Max, will you talk to me?’
He shook loose of my grip and shoved me in the chest with all his strength. I was not expecting the blow, and staggered back a few steps. He didn’t stop there, and came after me, angry now, and swinging at me with his left. I hunched up and took the punch on my shoulder, then stepped aside as his momentum carried him off balance. He fell against the wall.
‘You finished?’ I asked him.
He was breathing heavily, the exertion having been too much for him.
‘Leave me alone, you bastard.’
‘No.’
‘Leave me alone!’ he shouted and launched himself at me again, ramming into my body with his head. I was ready this time and caught him by his shoulders and pushed him back. He sat down hard on the pavement.
‘Now you listen to me, you arsehole. We are going to talk. I’ve waited all fucking day for you to surface, and I’m not leaving until you hear what I’ve got to say.’
‘Say it then, you cunt, and let me go home.’
I held out my hand and he took it and I pulled him to his feet. Now that I could see him close up, he looked even worse. The whites of his eyes were yellowed. He had aged, his face was leathery and lined, and he had lost a good deal of weight. It made me afraid for him. He was sick and getting sicker.
‘The de-tox centre will take you again. I’ve got their number here. They want you to ring them to set up a date for going in. You can call them from my phone.’
‘Is that all?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Okay. I’ll be seeing you.’
He shuffled past me and began to walk down the street back towards his house. I ran after him.
‘Max, what the fuck is wrong with you? This will help you to kick the booze! Don’t you want to get the kids back? Isn’t this what you’ve been waiting for?’
He stopped and looked at me, and I saw that he was crying.
‘You stupid, pretentious do-gooder prick. Don’t you see? I’ve been here before. I’ve done it. Didn’t work. I came out and the need for a drink was like a fire in my gut. I went straight to the pub as soon as I got off the bus. I managed to keep it hidden for a while, but it soon got out of control, just like it always does. Now you tell me, you fucker, why I should waste my time going in there again? What difference will it make?’
‘You want to make it work. You told me you did …’
‘I said that before, too. But you see, I say these things, and I even mean them for a while. And then this starts calling to me. And I can’t refuse it. It owns me.’
He brandished the bottle at me, and screwed the lid off and took a long, sucking gulp. I grimaced as I imagined the foul stuff burning its way down his throat.
‘So you see, it’s over. You can take your de-tox bullshit and shove it right up your arse as far as you can get it.’
‘What do you want me to tell Cordelia and Victor and Ibar?’
The fight went out of him then, and he took another throatful of vodka, tears streaming down his face.
‘Tell them I just couldn’t do it any more. Tell them I’m sorry.’
‘Max …’
‘No. No more. I can’t. It hurts too much.’
I reached out to him, imploring him to stay and talk to me, but he shook his head and lurched away. He staggered off up the road, clutching the only thing in his life that mattered, wrapped in a brown paper bag. I stood there watching him go, suddenly realising that I was crying too.
PART THREE
Pictures of Spiderweb
For you took what’s before me
And what’s behind me
Took right and left and all around me
You took my name
And you took my station
And God as well, if I’m not mistaken
Dònal Òg, Anonymous
(8th century bardic poem)
10
I was in the Indian restaurant with Andi and Muriel, celebrating. The next day I was going to court with Josephine and Sinéad to seek the Supervision Order for Connie. While things were otherwise at a standstill with her, I felt that this was a significantly positive development. Josephine was confident that the Order would be granted. Although her attitude towards me since the review had been a little frosty, Sinéad had agreed to take a more active part in the case and had helped me to do some work with Mr and Mrs Kelly to prepare them for our more constant presence. I felt that maybe, once we began working in the home, we would see some concrete progress. I knew that Sinéad was angry about my report, which, as Josephine had pointed out, suggested the Kellys had been left to rot by previous workers. I was upset that she should feel that way, but it was a small enough sacrifice to make if it meant that we could do something real for the Kellys.
I raised my bottle of Tiger beer.
‘To the Irish legal system. May it, for once, not perform like an ass.’
Andi and Muriel cheered and clinked bottle necks. Muriel was a slim, dark-haired girl with glasses and a similar dress-sense to her girlfriend.
‘It truly depends on the judge you get, of course,’ she said, picking at her lamb rogan josh.
‘Really? I thought this was just an open-and-shut kind of thing. A formality.’
‘It should be, but we’ve both seen cases that should have been a doddle turn into shit-storms, haven’t we?’ Andi said to Muriel.
I had chicken sagwaala. The food in the restaurant was actually pretty good, despite Andi’s initial joking about it. We had taken to coming here on special occasions. The staff were polite, the seating was comfortable and it was never difficult to get a table.
‘Do you remember the Connors case?’ Muriel said.
‘Tell him about it, Muriel. You’ll love this, Shane.’
Muriel smiled and put down her fork. She tore off a piece of naan bread and pick
ed crumbs off it as she spoke.
‘I had a family at the refuge. Mum and two kids. The father kept on coming around, hanging about outside trying to intimidate them. We’d call the police, but there was little they could do. He was standing a small distance away, not acting threateningly, in a public car park. They sympathised, but that was about it. So, we decided to apply for a barring order. The details were fairly straightforward. He was an alcoholic and a drug abuser. He also pushed. There was every class of low-life coming in and out of the family home at all hours of the day and night. When the woman asked him to take his business elsewhere, he beat the shit out of her and threw her and the children out of the house. Now, you’d imagine that this would be a classic example of going in, presenting the evidence, getting your order, thank you very much judge, let’s all go home for tea.’