by Julie Corbin
‘There are, but she’ll be uncooperative, and then Aisling will end up having to go round and make the peace. When you meet my sister-in-law you’ll see that making the peace is something she’s good at, but it isn’t fair to lumber her with it. She’s only just had a baby. Their fifth.’
As we get closer to the farm, I start to get excited, and can’t sit still for pointing out landmarks. ‘That’s the convent school I went to, and over there is the best chip shop in all of Ireland, and I lost my virginity against that tree. He was called Gabriel, after the angel.’
‘How romantic!’ Sean laughs. ‘Wasn’t it uncomfortable?’
‘No, it was very nice actually.’
The road winds through the village and when we’re about thirty yards from the church I see Father O’Riordan standing on the pavement, his hands behind his back, looking up and down the street. It’s too late to reverse and impossible to make myself invisible, so when he steps out in front of the car and waves us to a halt, I apply the brakes and lower my window.
‘Is that you, Scarlett Naughton?’
‘Yes, Father. Good to see you, Father.’
‘You’ve come a long way, Scarlett.’
‘Yes, Father.’
‘Will we be seeing you at Mass then?’
‘I expect so, Father. But not this visit.’
‘How’s your mother?’
‘Fine, Father.’
‘She’s a difficult woman, to be sure.’ He bends his head to see into the car and reach his hand across me. ‘And who will you be, then?’
‘Sean O’Reilly. Pleased to meet you.’
‘Now that’s a good Irish name.’
I half listen to Sean make conversation with Father O’Riordan while I look along the street and see faces that I recognise and shop fronts that seem to have exactly the same window displays as when I left.
‘. . . all that malarkey’s for over there,’ Father O’Riordan says, and then he bangs the roof. ‘On your way now and stay longer next time.’
A few yards on, Sean is laughing when he says, ‘Why does he call you Scarlett?’
‘Scarlett Olivia Naughton was the name I was christened with, but I dropped the Scarlett when I came to Edinburgh.’
‘I’m seeing you in a whole new light.’ He laughs again. ‘I don’t suppose I’d be allowed to call you Scarlett?’
‘I don’t suppose you would,’ I say drily, and he laughs again, mischief in his eyes.
I turn off on to a narrow track, uneven ground bumping under the wheels as we drive towards the farm, situated almost a mile from the road, but easy to spot because the sun is shining on the roofs of the outbuildings, making them sparkle. When we pull up in front of the house, my nephews and nieces run out to meet me and then Aisling comes out too, her new baby in her arms, and we all hug each other. I introduce Sean and Aisling to each other but all the while I’m impatient to see my brother, and my eldest nephew runs off to fetch his dad while I stand talking, my eyes darting off to one side, knowing that Declan is only seconds away. When he comes around the corner of the barn, he shouts my name and I run to him as if I’m still the child I was. He lifts me up and hugs me for twenty seconds or more and I start to cry from the love of him.
‘Those two,’ I hear Aisling tell Sean. ‘They have such a bond. I’m hoping my children will be as close as they are.’
The evening passes in a whirl of catching up. Declan takes Sean round the farm and they talk vegetables and yields, cattle and prices. The first opportunity Aisling gets she takes me to one side. ‘Aren’t you the dark horse?’ she whispers. ‘He looks like Sean Connery, don’t you think? That lovely accent. Those eyes.’ She nudges me. ‘Tell me you don’t see it?’
‘I do see it.’
‘Will you be sharing a bed?’
‘Ssh! No.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. We haven’t even . . .’
‘Sweet Jesus, Scarlett, you’re blushing!’
When the children are down for the night, the four of us spend the evening talking, and it makes me happy to see how much Declan and Aisling enjoy Sean’s company, and he theirs.
Early the following morning, I borrow Aisling’s wellingtons and walk the farm with Declan. He shows me everything he’s done since I was last there and I hang on his arm, my hand in the pocket of his jacket, just like I always used to. It’s my opportunity to tell him about everything that’s been happening and he listens without judgement until he hears all the details and then he says, ‘I’m sure it was a difficult decision, but you’ve done the right thing, Scarlett.’
It’s all I needed to hear and, next day, when we leave for the airport, my heart feels light. My nieces and nephews hug Sean as though they’ve known him a lot longer than a weekend and he promises them he’ll be back soon and next time he’ll stay longer.
Sean and I sit in companionable silence in the departures lounge, as if we’re a long-married couple returning from a weekend break. Sean buys a copy of Gardener’s World and gets lost in an article about composting. He doesn’t fidget or pace the way Phil always does but is a relaxed, comforting presence next to me. It’s all I can do not to lean my head on his shoulder and I dare to hope that I might be getting a second chance at love.
When we arrive back in Edinburgh, Sean goes to the toilet while I wait at the belt for the luggage to come through. I switch my mobile back on and see that I’ve a missed call from Robbie. I check my watch – almost six o’clock; they should both be with Phil by now. Lauren was there anyway and Robbie arranged to go there for the evening. I don’t want to interrupt dinner so I send Robbie a quick text message saying I’ll call him after seven. It’s no sooner sent when my phone starts ringing, his name flashing on the screen. Sean’s back from the toilet and points two fingers at his eyes and then at the luggage belt, which has just started moving. I mouth ‘thank you’ and step away from the crowd and over to the wall where I’ll be able to hear Robbie better.
‘Hello, Dr Somers.’
I freeze. It isn’t Robbie’s voice; it’s Kirsty’s.
‘Are you there?’
‘Why do you have Robbie’s phone?’ I say.
‘If we’re going to answer questions then you need to answer mine first.’
I briefly close my eyes. Please God, don’t let her be pulling another stunt. ‘Go on.’
‘Why couldn’t you have just played it straight?’
‘I don’t know what you mean.’
‘Was it after I left? Is that when you and that Blakemore bitch decided to stitch me up?’
I watch O’Reilly take my suitcase off the conveyer belt. He seems far, far away, as if I’m looking through the wrong end of binoculars. ‘There was no stitch up, Kirsty,’ I say. ‘You were there with me. You heard what I said.’
‘You’re a liar.’
‘Why do you have Robbie’s phone?’
‘Because he’s here with me.’
‘Where?’
There’s the sound of heavy traffic in the background, so I’m not surprised when she answers, ‘On the Forth Road Bridge.’
I take a big breath in. ‘Kirsty, I’ve done exactly as you asked. You promised me that would be the end of it.’
She says nothing for several interminable seconds; my heart is suspended in my ribcage, waiting for the hammer blow.
‘Too late,’ she says. ‘A life for a life. That’s fair, don’t you think?’
The line goes dead and I’m left staring at Sean.
19
‘What’s happened?’ Sean takes hold of my shoulders. ‘Tell me!’
‘Kirsty answered Robbie’s phone.’
‘So where’s Robbie?’
‘With Kirsty on the Forth Road Bridge.’
‘Call her back.’
I gulp down my rising panic and do it, listening, wishing, praying, for the sound of Robbie’s voice but . . . nothing. ‘She’s switched it off,’ I say.
‘Okay, Olivia. Think.’ He holds my shaky ha
nds still. ‘What did Kirsty say?’
‘Something . . .’ The space in my head is cluttered up with confusing messages and fragments of fear and I dart around until I find a remembered phrase. ‘A life for a life,’ I blurt out.
‘But why would she say that when you’ve done what she asked?’
‘She said something about me stitching her up.’
He drops my hands and lifts both of our cases. ‘We need to see a copy of the Edinburgh Courier.’
We run a few yards to the airport shop where people are wasting time browsing the shelves. The newspapers are in a pile close to the floor and Sean picks one up. On page five there is a large photo of me, smiling, and the headline says: When good doctors just keep getting better. We both read the first paragraph, which begins: ‘Olivia Somers, our recent City Women award winner, has a confession to make – she’s only human. Just like the rest of us, she’s made her fair share of mistakes. But, unlike the rest of us, not only is Olivia Somers able to admit to her mistakes, she’s also able to learn from them.’
‘Shit,’ Sean says softly. ‘The interview’s slanted completely in your favour.’
Barbed wire grips my ribcage and I daren’t breathe in for fear that I’ll tear myself wide open. I know what this will mean to Kirsty. When I last saw her, running from the restaurant, she was close to breaking point and this article will have dealt the final blow.
‘Come on.’ Sean moves off at a run and I keep up with him, weaving around the throngs of people that crowd the arrivals area. When we’re outside, he holds my suitcase up against the traffic and we sprint over the road. His car is close by and we’re in it and moving off before I have a chance to think. The screech of his police siren sends my heartbeat even higher and I bite down hard on my lip.
‘Put your seatbelt on,’ Sean shouts across at me, swerving out of the car park on to the access road. ‘And call Mark Campbell’s phone to see whether he knows anything.’
I put my belt on and concentrate on using my mobile. I have Mark’s phone number programmed into my phone but it seems to take me forever to find it as my fingers press the wrong places on the screen and I end up opening functions I don’t want. All the while Sean is driving faster than can possibly be safe, but up ahead of us cars slow down and pull in to one side to allow us to pass. I finally manage to connect with Mark’s phone but, just like Robbie’s, his phone is switched off.
‘Mark’s phone is off,’ I tell Sean.
‘He might be with them,’ Sean says. ‘But don’t worry, we can be there in ten minutes. She won’t be expecting that.’
It’s a good point and my spirits feel the ghost of a lift. Sean takes his police radio from the holder on the dashboard between us and talks to the South Queensferry police. ‘Two, possibly three or even four young people,’ Sean says, using his other hand to steer us around the roundabout and on to the motorway. ‘They might be driving on to the bridge or they might be walking on to it. We’re not far away and I don’t want them to know we’re on to them, so I’ll shut off the siren when I get close. I’m driving a black, BMW 5 series.’ He speaks his number plate using the phonetic alphabet. ‘I’ll stop just before the bridge. Meet me there.’
In the distance, one of the bridge’s two metal towers rises gracefully into the air, cables slung across the top and falling in an arc towards the centre of the bridge. There are two lanes of traffic moving in either direction; on the outside of the roadway is a cycle track and pedestrian walkway – all the better for admiring the scenery – and people regularly walk from one side to the other, taking in the view along the Firth of Forth that cuts into the east side of Scotland separating North and South Queensferry.
Early evening traffic means the queue is long. Sean has silenced the siren but is overtaking the cars and lorries anyway, his light flashing a warning as he encroaches into the path of oncoming vehicles.
Every second is meaningful. Every second holds my son’s life in the palm of its hands. I imagine the hands of a clock wrapping themselves around Robbie, holding him safe. Please, please keep him safe. I know how easy it is to die. I’ve seen people die, suddenly, in an instant, their lives snuffed out in the time it takes to make a cup of tea.
An oncoming car sounds its horn and I jump in my seat. Sean doesn’t even flinch. He forces every last millimetre of air out of the space to either side of us and I tense against the imminent collision of wing mirrors. A split second of heightened alert and the vehicles pass each other, the different mirror positions preventing an explosion of glass and plastic.
My mind is chasing itself, circling on possibilities: Kirsty trying to push Robbie over the handrail or threatening him with a knife or attempting to drug him again. Or maybe her intention is simply to scare me and this is a complete overreaction on our part. We could get there and find that Kirsty ran off immediately after she spoke to me.
Except that Robbie and Mark’s phones are switched off.
And Kirsty’s last words were a life for a life.
And she’s already proven that she’s adept at forward planning.
The article in the Edinburgh Courier was supposed to mark the end of Kirsty’s revenge and instead it has brought us to crisis point. I curse myself for not asking Carys to show me the copy before it went to print, but it never occurred to me that it would go to press so quickly, and nor did I expect her to turn the story around. I should never have gone to Ireland. I should have stayed in Edinburgh and kept my children locked up beside me.
‘You didn’t know this was going to happen,’ Sean shouts over to me. For a moment I think I must have been speaking aloud, but then I realise that he’s already guessed I blame myself. ‘We’re almost there. We’ll get her before she does anything. Don’t worry.’
I daren’t ask Sean what he thinks Kirsty intends to do. His take on this may be even worse than mine, and I’m already battling to hang on to my emotions when all I want to do is howl up at the sky.
Facts are normally a comfort to me, but I know more about this bridge than I care to. About five years ago Phil had a patient who suffered from hypermania and she was continually reeling off facts and figures. Phil came home and told me about whatever subject was obsessing her. One particular day she’d given him the bridge’s vital statistics – opened in 1964, 2.5 kilometres long, etc. – but what I remember most are the suicides. Every year about twenty people jump off the bridge and in all the years since it was built only three of those people have survived. Entering the water from over a hundred metres up is like hitting concrete, so even if they’re picked up by one of the boats that pass along this waterway, they’re likely to die from their injuries.
Sean stops the car just before the bridge begins and we both climb out. All forms of motor vehicles accelerate past us up the sloping lanes and on to the bridge. Exhaust fumes and engine noise assault us both and I hold my hand up where my forehead meets my eyes to see whether I can see past the sun and on to the bridge, turning back around when a car comes to a stop beside us and two uniformed police officers climb out.
‘There are four people walking on this side, away from us,’ one of the officers shouts, his eyes sparking with emergency. ‘They’re about two hundred metres in.’ He hands Sean his binoculars. ‘You’ll be able to see whether or not you can identify them.’
Sean has a quick look then passes the binoculars to me. ‘I think it’s Kirsty with Robbie, Mark and Tess.’
I hold the binoculars up to my eyes. It takes me a few seconds to focus and, when I do, I only have a moment to look before my hands tremble and I drop the binoculars down to my side. ‘Yes, it’s them,’ I say, trying to process what I’ve just seen. Both boys were walking a few paces ahead of the girls and Mark had his face turned towards Kirsty. I couldn’t see the expression on Robbie’s face but Mark was definitely afraid. And Tess was walking very close to Kirsty, as if she was physically tied to her.
‘We need to stop all traffic going on to the bridge.’ Sean’s voice is raised as he
instructs the uniformed officers. ‘And you need to call in one of the armed response vehicles.’ He turns away from me so that I can’t hear what he says next and then the policemen jump back in their car and speed off.
‘Okay, Olivia, listen to me.’ Sean pulls me in close to the car, managing to identify a small pocket of quiet where the traffic noise is muffled and we don’t have to shout. ‘I’m going to follow the last car on to the bridge and then I’m going to talk to Kirsty.’
‘I’m coming with you.’
‘I think I have a better chance of talking her out of whatever she’s planning than you do.’ He glances away from us to where large neon signs are warning vehicles to slow down and come to a halt. ‘I need to go. Stand to one side.’
‘No!’ I resist the pull of his arm. ‘It makes sense for me to come. I’m the person she wants! Everyone who’s on the bridge is only there because I’m not.’
‘It’s not appropriate for you to come with me. You’re emotionally involved—’
‘Which is exactly why I should be there.’ I climb into the passenger seat. ‘I’m coming with you. You can’t stop me. This is my problem, my son.’ I brace myself against the side of the door, ready to resist in case he tries to physically throw me out, but he doesn’t. I watch him take a nanosecond to decide between wasting time trying to talk me round and getting on to the bridge before the situation worsens, and then he runs round to the driver’s side and starts the engine.
‘Olivia?’
‘Yes?’ I swivel to look at him and register the strain on his face.
‘I don’t want you putting yourself in danger.’
I don’t reply because I think we both know that it’s already too late for that.
‘I think Kirsty might have a gun.’
‘A gun?’ I hadn’t factored that into the equation and my heart, an aching sore behind my ribcage, squeezes another shot of alarm into my bloodstream. ‘How could she get hold of a gun?’
‘It’s difficult but not impossible to get hold of one.’ We fall in behind the last car and follow it on to the bridge. ‘It looked like she was holding a handgun into Tess’s side. I can’t be sure but it would explain Tess’s stilted walking and also why the boys are cooperating with her.’