‘Colin … please believe me, nothing ever happened. The picture, I can explain—’
‘Oh, explain it to the lawyers, Ali. And when you come back the locks will be changed. You won’t be getting back into my house, ever.’
‘You can’t do that!’ I am petrified.
‘I can and I will.’
‘It’s against the law.’
The policeman who spoke with me approaches us.
‘I will need you all to come to police station to give statement. Hotel property damage also.’
Colin speaks. ‘Yeah, no problem, this is a domestic case. I’d say if I requested a drug test you’d literally shit your slutty bought knickers, Ali.’
I shut my eyes tight. How can he possibly know that?
‘Where are my children, Colin? Who is minding them?’
‘Don’t you fucking even go there!’ he roars in my face like a maniac.
‘Please, no shouting, this is a hotel,’ the police officer says as he closes the door to my room.
The hotel manager appears and speaks to me in English with a different police officer by his side. This police officer takes pictures of the bloodstained carpet and then enters room 141. I can hear the camera clicking away.
‘We will need you to vacate both rooms, yes, all your property must be removed now, yes?’
I nod. Like a robot I walk into my room and pack my barely unopened case. When I emerge a big crowd is standing around.
‘Can we go?’ I say and we are all led away. Downstairs two separate cars wait to take us to the police station.
14
Early Friday evening. Police station. Amsterdam.
After two hours of waiting on a hard cold bench and then into questioning I am told I am free to go. No charges will be brought against me. How could there be? I did nothing wrong. I’m reading a card with information that tells me the Dutch legal system is a ‘civil law’ system, which was also explained in plain English to me by a female police officer.
‘The other man, Colin Devlin?’ I ask the police woman who in fairness has been very pleasant to me, taken my statement and given me water. I was not attacked and I have no reason to press charges. She shrugs her shoulders.
‘I do not know,’ she tells me matter-of-factly as she holds her hand on a buzzer, pulls open the door and I have no choice but to leave through it.
It’s freezing outside and I try to hail a taxi. None come. I can’t physically stop shaking. My brown leather jacket offers no heat. My head is thumping now. Putting my head down against the cold, I walk even though I have absolutely no idea where I’m headed. How quickly things turn. How quickly life can just bowl you right over. Strike! I take out my phone, twenty per cent of battery left. I call Colin. His phone is turned off, straight to voicemail. The happy tone of his voice message sends a shiver right up my spine. Then I call Owen. He answers.
‘Hi,’ he says quietly. ‘Are you OK?’
I stand in the doorway of a shoe shop called Clogs. I can smell the fresh leather from the open door. My sense of smell is still bizarre.
‘Yeah, where are you?’ I ask in rushed words.
‘I’m at the airport, Ali, I’m on the next flight home.’
‘What?’ I lean my head against the freezing cold wall. ‘So quickly? What did the doctors say? How is your hand?’
‘Not sure till I get home. I won’t lose any fingers, that’s the main thing. I managed to curl most of them up tight before he slammed the door closed on me, don’t ask me how.’
I wince.
‘I refused the offer of surgery at the hospital: I’ve no medical cover, Ali, no VHI, Layla-whatever insurance, no anything. They saw me immediately, threw a few stitches into my index one which is by far the worst, bandaged me up and released me. I got morphine tablets from the paramedics; they splinted all the fingers, two are possibly broken, they think. I need to get home, fast. My brother is going to loan me money. The police interviewed me at the hospital so I didn’t have to go to the station.’ He doesn’t even sound like Owen O’Neill any more. He sounds like a little boy.
‘I can’t believe this … I’m so sorry. I have never seen him like that before,’ I say.
‘No … well, what did we expect? He’s been into your Facebook account, he told the police. All our correspondence, he had it printed out: the adjoining rooms and all that joking we were doing, he thought it was true. He wants … he wants … he’s looking for evidence of adultery, Ali.’
‘There is none!’ I cry out. The rain is coming down now as a crowd of carol singers have set up and are singing the Dutch version of ‘Jingle Bells’. Sounds like the English version but then it switches into Dutch: ‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, in de arreslee.’
Oh, what fun it is to ride on a one-horse open sleigh.
‘Did you press charges?’ I ask. Trying to focus.
‘No … but I might have to take a case against him when I get home, to cover medical expenses. I can’t afford to fix this, Ali. You know Kieran, my brother, is a guard; he said I have a case, mainly to pay for my medical bills, Ali, under section 3 of the Non-fatal Offences Against the Person Act 1977. I’m going to need you to give a statement, evidence he did this to me …’
I can’t take much more. I roll my back down the cobble-blocked wall and the pain is a relief.
My kids. It’s nearly Christmas. ‘Jingle bells, jingle bells, in de arreslee …’ The rain is driving down harder now. I get that feeling I sometimes get in a small lift, I can’t breathe, I feel faint. My heart palpitates.
‘My stand-by flight is boarding soon, I got a seat ... I can’t talk, Ali, I’m in too much pain … You … you mind yourself, OK? This isn’t your fault. I’m so sorry.’ He ends the call.
What am I going to do? I can’t leave till Sunday. Oh my God, Colette and Michael. The show. My job. Owen’s job. They must have heard about this by now; the room is booked under the Danker name. The humiliation. I try Colin again. Still switched off. With shaking hands I dial Corina’s number.
‘Corina!’ I cry heavily when she answers.
‘Is he there? Is he there? Are you OK? Ali, I tried to warn you … oh, what’s happened? Oh my God, I’ve been out of my mind with worry!’ Corina is crying now too.
‘How did you know?’ I manage to sob the words out.
‘He came to get Jade at gymnastics rehearsals at eleven. I was there, at the early rehearsals. I was taking her picture … sending it to you ... He smashed my phone on the ground – he shattered the glass, the bastard – and dragged her away in front of the entire class and teachers. He called me awful names, you should have heard him. He was insane! You never logged out of your Facebook account on the family computer in the kitchen, Ali! He shoved our Facebook messages into my face. He knew I knew about Owen from them all. He has them printed! He screamed that he was going to find you. God, poor Jade, what she must think, she looked terrified. A parent had to ask him to leave. I called and called and called ... re-dialled for hours but you didn’t answer … I didn’t think to call Owen ... till now... I had his number... Oh why didn’t I think of that? I knew Colin was going to the airport.’ Her sobs are heavy. ‘Then I was too afraid to call any more in case he answered.’
‘Where are the kids, Corina?’ I beg her.
‘I don’t know, Ali,’ she says through shaking breaths. ‘But that Maia, the green woman, was with him all po-faced and giving me filthy looks. That bitch stood by and watched him abuse me in front of Jade!’
‘I need to wake up. This has to be a bad trip,’ I say. I move off down the street away from the carol singers, the rain slamming me in the face and I tell Corina all that has happened. Still on the phone, I find a free taxi back to the hotel. As I push open the door to the hotel, Colette and Michael are standing at the reception desk. I tell Corina I have to go and Colette comes straight over to me.
‘Are you OK?’ is her first question, but I can see she is beside herself. She wrings her hands repeatedly in front of her.
Michael moves away to the end of the reception desk.
‘We have to pay three hundred and twenty euros for damage to the room. The television is broken, as is the shower door and the bedside lamps. The carpet is stained with blood in your room and in the corridor. We are a government-run centre, Ali. If we lose the support, we are closed down. We rely on state funding—’
‘I’ll pay it,’ I say, my chin is quivering and I am dripping wet.
‘I think you should leave this evening, Ali. Michael checked the last flight to Dublin: it’s at ten. The desk will call you a cab. I can’t see another way to deal with this. We will talk about this on Monday, OK? How is Owen?’ Her expression changes now to one of concern.
‘I don’t know for sure yet … He’s gone home,’ I manage, my hair drips water into my eyes.
Michael approaches with my case and leaves it at the hotel door beside the Christmas tree.
‘That’s all your stuff,’ is all he says and then I see his eyes widen and he seems to stumble. I follow his eyeline. It’s Colin. He walks straight to the reception desk.
‘Hi, I lost my wallet earlier? I was involved in that fight, room 141?’ he says very matter-of-factly.
Has he seen me? I can only see his side profile now, his nose bloody, unbandaged, swollen and cut.
‘Yes, Mr Devlin, we have your wallet.’ The receptionist in the navy blazer with gold buttons looks less than impressed as she bends under the counter. She stands with his brown wallet and extends her hand. The one Jade bought him last Christmas from TK Maxx. Colin takes it.
‘Thank you,’ he says and as he turns he sees us. Collette has moved closer to me.
Suddenly I feel really, really sorry for him. What have I done to him? His face is a mess and he looks so sad.
‘Colin …’ I move towards him.
‘Ali.’ He shoves his hands deep into his winter coat pocket. A coat that should be hanging on our coat peg in the hall right now, not here, not in this situation. It’s outlandish.
‘Nothing happened, I swear on the children’s lives,’ I whisper to him across the busy lobby.
‘It doesn’t matter any more. You’ve broken me, this is over.’ His voice is low and calm.
I can’t speak. There’s nothing to say.
‘I have a flight to catch. I need to get home to my children,’ he says.
And he’s gone.
15
Friday night. Corina’s living room. South Circular Road. Dublin 8.
Corina parks illegally at Arrivals in Dublin airport to meet me and sweeps me home in her little car. Colin hadn’t been at the airport in Amsterdam when I got there at eight o’clock – he must have been on the seven thirty out. Dublin mocks me with its twinkling Christmas lights and jovial atmosphere. ’Tis the season to be jolly. People in colourful Christmas jumpers under heavy coats walk in the middle of the road, invincible, determined to do the twelve pubs of Christmas. Everyone is merry.
‘I want to go home, Corina.’ I start to cry again, my eyes are actually sore now.
‘Oh, not tonight please, Ali. Let the dust settle … Not tonight. You need to regroup, think about this with a clear head.’ She never takes her eyes off the road.
‘I need to see my children!’ I scream at the top of my lungs. ‘You don’t get it! I need to see them now!’ I bash my hands onto the dashboard. Still she remains perfectly calm.
‘Arghhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!’ I scream so hard I hurt my throat.
‘Scream again!’ she says and I do. I scream over and over and over. How her ears aren’t deafened, I don’t know. She drives carefully. When I can scream no more, I collapse back into the passenger seat. I lay my head against the soft headrest. Only now can I smell the potent BO coming from me.
‘Oh, I stink. Can we drive by the house then, that’s all?’ I ask in a small voice.
She’s in her pyjamas with her long ankle-length fawn Next coat covering them and a pair of black Uggs. We drive straight to my house but the place is in total darkness and Colin’s car is not there.
‘Where the hell does Maia live?’ I whack the dashboard again and wrack my brains. Somewhere in Castleknock but I have no idea where. I’ve tried calling her too but, like Colin’s, her phone has been off for hours.
‘Let’s just go back to mine, it’s late. Tomorrow is a new day. Even if Colin was there with the children, or we found them at Maia’s apartment, do you really think they need to witness you both face off tonight?’ Corina says in the most sympathetic of tones.
I shake my head. More reluctant than I have ever been in my life. The want to see my children a real physical ache in my belly.
‘Fucking hell, Corina,’ I say. ‘What the fuck have I done? What the fuck am I going to do?’
‘We’ll see … we’ll figure it out … Let’s just get you home.’ She drops her foot harder down onto the accelerator.
* * *
Back at her house Corina makes me take a hot shower, puts me in a pair of her flannel Lenor-smelling pyjamas and makes me sweet tea and hot buttered toast. I drink the tea but the toast sticks in my throat. Her fire-in-a-bag is blazing now, and we both sit cross-legged in front of it.
‘I better try ringing him again.’ I go to get up.
‘Leave it now, Ali. It’s after midnight, tomorrow is Saturday … I’m off all weekend, we can go over together in the morning. I’d say he’s at that Maia’s house, she must have agreed to take the kids on a sleepover to let him go to Amsterdam. He won’t expect you home tonight.’ Corina leans in and pokes the fire. The flames rage higher.
I nod.
‘Your place looks lovely,’ I tell her in a very small voice and it is. She has the best taste in Christmas decorations, always does. It’s all pale blues and silvers. It reminds me of the cover of Disney’s Frozen storybooks. What I wouldn’t give right now to be reading that to Mark. I’d read the whole book five times over if he asked me to. I’d read all night long and act out every page. There is nowhere else I’d rather be. I’d walk Jade over to Karen’s myself and go back and collect her in a hour, any night no matter how dark it was. No bother. Sure, I’d enjoy the time we would get to spend together on the walks.
I tilt my head to breathe in the smell of pine from her tree, which is sitting in the corner beneath her television with white twinkling fairy lights and pale blue decorations. Minimalist.
‘So,’ Corina says in a tone that tells me she’s just trying to take my mind off things, ‘I found out Trevor doesn’t really live in Manchester, he lives in Dublin. I bumped into the Pimple at a lunchtime event in the Dillon hotel I was doing, for that new men’s magazine, All About Men. He’d had quite a few of the potent free cocktails. Anyway, among other things, the Pimple told me, “Trev just tells girls that so he can get away from them easily”. Unless they are brain-dead like me and have already planned their move to Manchester,’ she guffaws.
The mention of Manchester brings Colin to my mind. His khaki school bag with all its Manchester United graffiti. His love for that team. Is it really that bad that he has an interest? I’d happily watch a match now. I’d go with him to Old Trafford if he wanted me to. It isn’t really such a big deal.
‘Did you like him that much?’ I ask, dragging my focus back to my friend. I curl my hands around my huge mug of sweet Barry’s tea.
‘Yeah … I kinda did. Thicko.’ She raises her perfectly shaped HDs at me.
‘Sorry.’ I lean over and rub her thigh. The light from the flames bouncing off her sweet, freckled face.
‘Holy shitballs with Colin though, what?’ She lets out a long, slow breath. She looks shattered, poor Corina.
‘Yep. What a massive tit I am.’
Corina looks like she is about to say something, but just nods her head. Agreeing with me. And all I can do is accept it.
16
First thing Saturday morning. Corina’s house. South Circular Road. Dublin 8.
I didn’t sleep a wink. I have black bags under my eyes and the lines on my
face seem more pronounced this morning. I look every day of my thirty-five years. I dreamt all night about Jade and Mark being in dangerous situations. I tried to save Jade from falling down the stairs and when I tried to grab her my arms wouldn’t move. I was paralysed. I tried to tell Mark his bike had no stabilisers, to slow down, but my voice wouldn’t work. He was heading towards a main road. No matter how hard I tried to shout I just couldn’t scream loud enough. I couldn’t warn him. I woke in a dripping sweat.
Corina is up. I can hear Sunshine radio in the kitchen. Carly Simon, ‘You’re So Vain’. I can also smell rashers.
I reach immediately for my phone, no messages. I turn on my back for a moment and admire the beauty of Corina’s spare room. She’s done it up beautifully. All pale pinks and pastels. A vintage dressing table that she stripped down and sandpapered herself sits under the old ash window. The original floorboards have been sanded and painted in a dark oak-coloured paint. The house is old and a little draughty but it has enormous character. It’s all hers. This little place off South Circular Road. I get up. I dress in a cream hoody of Corina’s from the clothes horse in the corner and I pull on my jeans. It’s just after eight.
‘Morning!’ She smiles at me, as I make my way into the kitchen. She pulls her pan to one side.
‘Rashers and mushrooms on toast OK?’ she enquires.
I nod. I really have to try and eat.
‘You’re so kind, thank you, Corina,’ I say.
She winks at me, before saying, ‘Look … I couldn’t sleep for hours, as I imagine you couldn’t. You didn’t do anything wrong, per se.’ She is straight to business, holding her hands out, palms facing upwards, as though she is weighing what she’s about to say. ‘Yes, you shouldn’t have been in a hotel room together, it looks mega crappy, Ali, but the fact is nothing happened and Colin’s reaction was way over the top. I think the first thing we need to do is to get you to talk to a solicitor. I know it’s a Saturday but I have a friend, well, an acquaintance, who might do me a favour and see you for half an hour. What do you think? Will I text her?’
The Week I Ruined My Life Page 19