A Journal of Sin

by Darryl Donaghue

  ‘Doesn’t talk much.’

  ‘Has she always been like that?’

  He took a deep breath in through the nose. ‘She’s always been shy. I’ve only heard her speak a handful of times.’ He paused. ‘He’s a nice guy. She’s very quiet.’

  ‘Don’t you think it’s more than that?’ Dealing with vulnerable people on a regular basis gave her a certain insight. She picked up on signs, behaviours and facial expressions that suggested there was more to something than what lay on the surface, what was there for all the world to see. Quiet, shy, likes to keep to herself – these were sometimes easy ways of turning a blind eye.

  ‘She’s just quiet.’

  ‘What about you and Tom?’

  He rolled his eyes. ‘Like I said. Friends with Dad. Hardly speak.’

  ‘He told me to avoid you.’ She stopped short of mentioning that he may as well have accused him of murder. Tom had sway over the people here and had the credibility that came with being in one place for a very long time. He was a stalwart of the town, knew everyone and seemed to have their respect. She expected him to offer his pennies’ worth at some point. He knew everyone and yet decided to point the finger at an old family friend, one he’d had little to do with anymore.

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Any reason why he’d do that?’

  ‘No. None. What’d he say?’

  ‘He didn’t say any more, just that you should be avoided. Seems an odd thing to say about someone you’ve had little to do with for years.’

  ‘You suggesting I’m hiding something?’ He stood up too fast and held his chest in pain.

  ‘I’m suggesting that if there is anything you’ve been keeping from me, it’s best you start talking.’

  ‘I’ve told you what I know. I’ll ask him myself.’ He clutched his chest. ‘I don’t like this. Are you thinking I had something to do with the murder?’ Suspecting him of murder was a step too far, but she was starting to wonder if she could trust anyone in this town. An investigation was a search for the facts. Facts had to be separated from opinion. The more she thought about it, the more she realised she had very few facts to go on. Her investigation was being directed by rumours and hearsay.

  ‘No, but when one party is telling me everything’s amicable and the other’s saying it’s best to avoid them, it leaves some questions for me to answer. You’re in no state to talk to anyone; the best thing you can do is get some rest.’

  ‘Rest? I can’t rest.’

  She took a bottle of Nytol from the medicine cabinet and gave it a shake. ‘These may help. Calming down after a night shift can be tough going; I tend to pop a couple of these and it sends me off to sleep pretty sharpish.’ They hadn’t helped this week. She’d spent the few short hours she’d had to herself rolling around on the spare bed trying to get some sleep. The bed wasn’t comfortable to start with. Sarah’s family were the only overnight guests Sally ever had and if they wanted to stay overnight, they tended to book a local B and B. The mattress had hardly been slept on, so didn’t have that lived-in comfortable feeling she was used to at home. Thoughts buzzed around her head from the moment she hit the pillow, and when she finally drifted off, the nightmares came. ‘Knock them back with a few painkillers.’ She held out the bottle. His hands stayed holding his chest.

  ‘They won’t help. When I try to sleep, I see Jenny and Josh. Only one thing chases them away.’ A quart a day keeps the therapist away. Booze was his emotional painkiller and, as with any drug, the more he drank, the more he needed to. Jack Daniels had given him the courage to talk to Jenny in the first place, and now he helped him run like a coward. ‘Please. I just need to see for myself. To settle my mind.’

  ‘We’ve been through this. It’s a flat-out no.’

  ‘Please. I love my son. Even after she asked for the separation, I’d have let her take it all back. We had it good. We moved away to the city; we’d made it. Work was good. Josh was doing well in school. The week before the conversation, he’d come first place in the 100- metres sprint. The 100-metres sprint – the top race on sports day. When I was a lad, I just about managed the egg and spoon race. They put me forward for the shot put just to humiliate me. I was so proud. And in love with her too. I hate to say it now. I feel so stupid, thinking about all the things I should have picked up on. What did I fail to see? When did our relationship start to degrade? Was there anyone else? Back then, I was on top of the world. A great little family, a good job, good home.’

  She pitied him. It was more sympathy than empathy. She’d never been in his position. She’d had her heart broken of course, but the thought of anyone taking the twins away horrified her.

  ‘There’s only one way to sort this out. Get help, stop drinking and go back to the court proving that you’re sober.’

  ‘Back to the court?’ His eyes, the only part of his face that could form expression without pain, looked at her in anger. ‘You looked through my stuff?’

  ‘It was on your desk. How did it come to that?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake.’ Saliva dribbled from the side of his mouth. He was talking far more than a broken cheek would allow, which was a relief, she thought. ‘You can’t just go through people’s private things whenever you want.’

  ‘It was there on your desk, it wasn’t hidden.’

  ‘Nobody comes to my house. I didn’t have anyone rooting around in my business until I let you through the door.’

  ‘Was it the drink?’ She’d smelt it on him when they’d first met and there was even a hint of it now. Alcohol abuse was an addiction and for John it had been more than a coping strategy; it’d become the only way to get through the day. He didn’t respond. ‘If you want your family back, you’ll have to earn back their trust. That starts by putting the bottle down. It’s not easy, it’ll take time, but there’s help out there.’

  ‘Why are the people most willing to deceive, the first to bring up trust?’

  She understood his position, but she had a duty to investigate. Had she been back at the office, she’d have run him through the box and found out about his restraining order. If the information was available, did it matter whether she read it on a computer screen or on his desk at home?

  ‘No one wants to keep you from your child. They want to protect Josh from a drunk. Take their advice and get back on your feet.’ It was harsh, but someone needed to tell him.

  ‘Protect Josh from me? His own dad? You don’t understand how that woman works. Or the system; it doesn’t favour fathers. She made up a pack of lies and still got exactly what she wanted; my drinking doesn’t matter.’ She wanted to sit down with him and talk it out, but knew it wouldn’t do any good. Most people had seen Eliza through with their families or friends for support. He’d spent two weeks sitting with memories and his disconsolate spirits for comfort. She didn’t have the time and, even if she did, the chances of it having any effect were slim. There was no short-term fix; he needed professional intervention. Alcohol abuse couldn’t be solved with a quick pep talk or by going over the past by reading through a dead man’s journal. ‘I want to talk to them. At least you can help me with that?’

  ‘How exactly?’

  ‘You can find people’s addresses on your police systems right? That way I can see them. Start sorting this all out.’

  ‘First of all, I can’t just share police information with anyone. It’s unethical, illegal and it’ll cost me my job. On top of that, if you’re under a court order to stay away, it’s best you stay away.’

  ‘So, I’ve helped you this whole time and you won’t do anything for me? You told Sean about the book, that’s what led to this.’ He pointed at his face.

  ‘I can’t do anything for you. You’re asking for things that are out of my control.’

  ‘You can, you know you can.’ He squared up to her and she stepped back. He was a little taller and, although a simple push to the chest would send him crawling away in pain, it was an intimidating gesture. ‘Everything I’ve done for you? I ha
ve to stay quiet about everything, but you get to say what you like to anyone. I can’t read information about myself, my family, but you get to keep it all and do whatever you want with it. Your big mouth got me this beating. Who would know if you just showed me those journals?’

  ‘I’d know.’ Enough corners had been cut. She stuck to her guns, but was acutely conscious that John had the deceased in his shed. She had the power to answer burning questions about his past and he could dispose of the body on a whim. He grabbed her arm; she turned her shoulder away, instantly breaking the grip. He looked shocked.

  ‘Sorry. Shit. I didn’t –’

  ‘Don’t you ever touch me again.’ It had been a weak grip, either through intention or because it was the only strength he could muster. His fixation with the journals had taken him from a tearful father to a hostile obsessive slowly losing control of his own faculties.

  ‘Sarah, I –’

  ‘Downstairs.’ She wanted to move this conversation as close to the front door as possible.

  ‘Look, I said I was sorry.’

  ‘This has gone too far. Go home, throw the booze away and sleep it off.’

  He went downstairs and picked up his jacket from the bannister. ‘If you read them and there’s anything, anything at all, that you think may be about Jenny, you will tell me, won’t you?’

  She opened the door and stood to the side. He didn’t need another hint to step outside. ‘No. If she told Father Michael in confidence, she kept it from you for a reason.’

  They were down to the last Hobnob. Sarah made her mother a cup of tea and poured herself some water. She placed the biscuit on the saucer and carried the drinks through to the lounge. Her mother’s house was a small cottage to the west of town in a row of much-coveted properties in Sunbury. She was one of the last remaining original residents who lived on the road; most of the other houses had been purchased as second homes for rich city folk lacking a more imaginative way to spend their overflowing wealth. The yellow wallpaper was still stained with her father’s smoke and changing it was an argument that Sarah knew she’d lose. Sally was stubborn and reluctant to change, something that was reflected in every aspect of her living conditions: old rickety tables, a rocking chair with a patchwork throw and the kind of television children would gawk at on a school trip to the science museum. Sarah had bought her a laptop for Christmas last year; however, despite best efforts at teaching her to use it, it sat in the corner gathering dust next to the wooden table lamp from the sixties and an old photo of Sarah and her sister as children.

  ‘He’ll be alright, I’m sure.’

  ‘Just a scratch, Mum.’ Sally was from a tougher generation. They’d been through wars, depressions and a level of poverty Sarah would never know. Sally had filled her first home with hand-me-downs and second-hand furniture. Whenever someone in her family purchased a home, the others would offer any old tables, chairs or decorative items to give them a start. Some donated as a kind gesture, others palmed off things they no longer wanted, but the house was filled regardless. The standard of living had improved over the years and Sarah’s first home comforts far outweighed those of her mother’s.

  Attitudes to injuries and personal safety had changed too. A scratch that once required a quick rub and a pat on the head now required a trip to the hospital followed by accusations of being a terrible parent. Sarah wanted to talk about the John situation. Alcohol, obsession and anger were a terrible combination and she’d seen it take a hold of him upstairs. He’d immediately shown remorse and, given his injuries, she hadn’t been in any danger, but grabbing hold of her had been a step to far. Housing the body hadn’t helped. Keeping Father Michael in his shed added to both of their problems. It compounded his stress and placed key evidence at the disposal of a man who was slowly growing to hate her. Another duff move, she thought.

  ‘How have you been?’

  ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ said Sally. Sarah didn’t force the issue. Her mother had been close to Father Michael and hadn’t taken the news well. ‘Let’s talk about something else.’

  ‘Ok. But if you ever do –’

  ‘Something else, dear. Have you been able to contact the twins?’

  ‘No, the electricity’s still out.’

  ‘Not even a text message?’ Her grasp of technology was quaint at best. No electricity meant people were plunged back into the days before mobiles, computers and information zinging through the air at the touch of a button. ‘I remember Joe and I leaving you and your sister with Grace for three days when his father was in hospital. You were only toddlers and it broke my heart. You were at the age where you were starting to be less concerned if we were around or not. I don’t think that changed through your teenage years.’ She sipped her tea.

  ‘I miss them all. I mean, there are benefits to not being connected all the time. Not being at work, not having to read a string of emails every time I walk through the office door, not having to hear the constant drip, drip of information, instruction and incessant buzzing from my radio. Those are things I’m definitely not missing, but I’d trade it all for a cuddle with the girls and to see Mark again. I’m sure he’s coping. He can work from home if he needs to, and his sister’s only up the road and she’s always happy to have the girls,’ she said. The positives in no way outweighed how much she missed her family. Talking about it made it harder and she didn’t want to let on to how difficult being away from them was becoming. Her mother was having a hard enough time dealing with Father Michael’s death without giving her anything else to worry about. ‘Mum, could you do one thing for me? If John comes back, and I’m not here, don’t let him in.’

  ‘He was hurt, dear. I couldn’t turn him away.’

  ‘But from now on, I think it’s better if he doesn’t come round.’

  ‘Why ever not? You were getting on fine. In all honesty, if it wasn’t for your friendship, he probably wouldn’t have thought to come here in the first place. I don’t see what I’ve done wrong.’

  ‘You’ve not done anything wrong, it’s just, he’s not well.’ Telling her he was a raving alcoholic who got into fights and was obsessed with his ex would have only made her worry. ‘Not well’ was a nice way of putting it that fitted in with Sally’s preference for euphemism over facts.

  ‘Oh, I see. I shan’t let him past the door even if he turns up missing an arm.’ Sally laughed and Sarah hoped her stubborn mother took her request seriously.

  ‘What do you know about John?’

  ‘I knew his father. Good, churchgoing family. He was a very greedy man, always talking about money, how much he earned, his business ideas – that sort of thing. If we ever had anything nice, and we didn’t often, he’d be sure to find a way of putting us down, or mentioning something he had was better, faster, or cheaper. It turned out a lot of his money was borrowed. All loans and credit, some from banks, some from other people. I’ll admit, it was satisfying when it all fell apart. Me and your father did have a good old laugh when he had to leave town.’

  ‘Leave town?’

  ‘Yes, moved right out of Sunbury, he did. John must have been six or seven at the time, I can’t be sure. He borrowed some money from Tom to set up a paper shop. He believed it was going to be the first in a national chain and, as ever, wasn’t shy in telling everyone. It was a daft idea and everyone knew it but him. He was adamant it would be a roaring success. Anyway, Tom lent him the money and when the business fell through, he couldn’t pay it back. Tom’s a pleasant chap, but he wanted his money. The only job he could find was out of town, so he moved away, leaving his wife and child behind. I don’t know if he ever even visited; I certainly didn’t see him again. Too embarrassed, I expect.’

  ‘Why did he turn to Tom for money?’

  ‘Tom loves Sunbury. He’s always had money, mostly from property, and has always invested in the town. He’s lent money to people for a variety of businesses and still does now; he just paid to refit Louise’s cafe after the roof nearly collapsed. I
’ve no doubt he’ll be personally financing some of the storm repairs.’

  ‘So, he lent people money and when they couldn’t pay it back, they had to leave town?’

  ‘Oh, take that police hat off, Sarah. That only happened the once and it was hardly Tom’s fault. He didn’t charge any interest. Nothing at all. His only benefit was to see the town improve.’

  ‘Oh, come on.’ Naivety was another difference between them. Sally’s generation were far too trusting, which unfortunately made them common targets for modern frauds. Telephone scams, email deceptions and fraudulent handymen all took advantage of their willingness to just take people at their word. They believed they could trust their government, the press, the education system, the police. Soph and Ellie were growing up in a connected world where information was available at a moment’s notice. Trust that faceless organisations act in people’s best interests was long gone, and more knowledge came with more questions. Sally took Tom’s willingness to give as a sign of his love for the town; Sarah believed there was more to it.

  ‘Not everyone is just out for what they can get, you know.’

  ‘His wife seems quiet.’

  ‘Anne? She’s always been a wallflower. I didn’t know her before they were married, but I hear she was a talented ice skater.’

  ‘An ice skater? Where would someone from Sunbury go ice skating?’

  ‘She’s not from here. Somewhere up north, I think. Her parents moved here when she went to university and she met Tom through them. That was how it was done in those days, not out all hours drinking at discos. All the ice skating stopped once she got here, I expect. They were engaged within the year and married in two.’