by Rita Harling
I knew that Brian was worried about his own safety. He arrived home one day with a Doberman Pinscher. He tied the dog to the rotary clothesline in the back garden. I was horrified and terrified. Brian laughed at me as I slammed the patio doors shut when the dog started to growl and bark at me ferociously. How the dog did not bite him I do not know Maybe it was just as evil as Brian. It looked like it. I found out that Brian had stolen the dog from premises somewhere in The Ward. (The Ward is an area that runs between Kilshane and Ashbourne, in County Meath). The animal was a security dog, so I imagine that it would have attacked on command or if it came across intruders.
Brian got back into his car and left. Robyn was in the laneway that led into the kennels behind the cottage. She was playing with her friend and I could hear the two of them laugh and giggle. Then, to my horror, the dog broke free and made a run for the lane. I ran to the fridge, grabbed a half-pound of sausages and ran out the back door. The girls screamed when they saw the dog coming at them. They both turned on their heels and ran towards the safety of the kennels. I coaxed the dog back into the garden with the sausages and tried to tie him back to the clothesline. This dog was a vicious animal and I couldn’t bear to think of what it could have done to the kids if it had caught up with them.
A few minutes later a friend of Brain drove up to the cottage in his truck. I felt relieved and tried to warn him about the dog in the back garden. He was concerned about the dog. He opened the back of the truck and together we tried to coax the animal into it with whatever we could find in the fridge. When we had eventually secured the dog in the truck, he locked it up. We had a cup of tea and tried to decide what to do with it. He left with it before Brian got home. I imagine that he brought it to the pound on Scribblestown Lane.
It just proved to me once more that not only would Brian rob anything, but that he didn’t give a damn about our security or safety. He was so paranoid that he went to such lengths as to get a vicious dog so he’d feel more protected. It was pure madness. It would have been too dangerous to release that dog into an uncontrolled area. When Brian returned home to find the dog missing, he wasn’t happy. When I explained that it was in fact his friend that had taken the dog away from the cottage because he thought that the animal was dangerous and vicious, Brian said no more about it. Thank God Brian’s friend called in that day.
Chapter Six
EDUCATING RITA
I had completed my exams at the college and I was pleased that I had got through the course and the exams. There was a formal ceremony organised for the class to receive our awards. I had finished my course without malicious intervention from Brian — he had been kept busy with organised crime and seemed to be less interested in what I was doing. I was delighted when I saw my results and received my certificates. I had received distinctions in Computer Maintenance and Applications, and I had also completed my ECDL (European Computer Driving Licence). I was one step closer to getting the old Rita back.
It was May and we were still in the cottage. The fact that I had completed the course and passed my exams was making me feel stronger. I knew that I was preparing to eventually leave Brian.
I was disgusted one morning as Brian thought it was hysterical to watch his three-year-old son parade around the kitchen wearing a balaclava. Conor laughed along with his father, not knowing what exactly it was his father was laughing at. I laughed too — only to humour Brian. But really I was horrified. What path would Brian lead Conor down? Though I was disgusted, I didn’t want a full-scale argument. I knew that I had to get my kids out of there and the sight of my son in a balaclava only strengthened my resolve.
As summer went on I was missing my classmates. Once again I was spending more time at home, since college had finished. I had applied for a job with United Airlines in East Point Business Park, in Clontarf. I was thrilled when my application was successful. I was due to start at the end of July but the date was later put back until the end of December. Though I had to wait a while, I was really looking forward to starting work. Mary had also got a job with the airline. The two of us would start on the same date. It would be a new beginning for both of us. I was grateful that Mary would be working with me. She had been a tremendous support to me.
After the atrocity of September 11 2001 there was great unrest with the airlines. Some of them went out of business and many were on shaky ground. Mary and I were left unsure of our new jobs. We waited for word from United Airlines and hoped that the news would be good. The second aircraft to strike the Twin Towers in New York was a United Airlines plane. I had to hold onto my dream. The job with United Airlines would give me the financial security I needed to leave Brian.
Brian controlled everything about our relationship, including our money. In the beginning I was working and that meant that I had a degree of independence, but that changed once I got sick. After my long spell in hospital I was on disability benefit. The disability payments were nothing in comparison to what I had earned when I was working.
This change in my finances brought about a shift in our relationship. Brian took on the role of breadwinner. My disability benefit was used for grocery shopping. Brian’s money went towards utility bills and the mortgage. This meant that there was no paper trail to show that I had contributed to the household. This seems to be common in abusive relationships — the abuser controls the money. It is another way to exercise control over someone. It makes it very hard to prove that the person who is not in charge of the finances is actually making any contribution. I wish I had known this at the time, but I was too caught up in just trying to survive the situation and to build up my strength to escape. If I had realised that there was no paper trail or way to prove that I was living in the cottage, I would have ensured that my name was on at least one of the household bills. Brian had been clever in keeping my name off everything — even the deeds of our home. He had been generous in the very beginning and I suppose that drew me in. I hate meanness. As time went on and Brian became more controlling, he stopped being generous with money. I never knew when he would give me money.
Peter Joyce was still showing up at the house an odd time, although he was not as involved with Brian as he used to be. I think that Peter was easily led. He was a very quiet type of guy and wasn’t pushy or intimidating. On one occasion Peter told us that his sister Amanda was in some trouble in England and that his dad had gone over to see her and bring her home to Ireland. It later emerged that her husband in England had been murdered and that he had been a well-known drug dealer there. Amanda had been questioned by the police. She returned to Ireland and lived with her dad and his partner in Finglas. Brian was spending a lot of time in the Joyce’s home. I suspected that he was carrying on with Amanda but I couldn’t prove it, and I didn’t want to. She could have him as far as I was concerned.
I drove Robyn to school one day and headed back to the house. The driveway was filled with cars. It was so packed it was difficult to get the car in. As I tried to park, my wing mirror rubbed against Brian’s car, leaving a scratch about the size of a hairpin. I went into the house and told Brian. He was having a bath. When I told him he went berserk, and with one punch he put his fist through the bathtub. I said nothing and walked away, leaving Brian in the bathroom swearing at me and calling me names until he was distracted by a phone call. He got out of the bath, dressed and left the house. Thank God.
There were many times that Brian lost his reason over small things. His temper was getting out of control and he became harder work as time went on. I had arrived home with Robyn and Conor from shopping one day and came in as usual by the back door. It was dark and hard to see until the sensor light came on as we walked up the drive. Nothing seemed unusual as we hurried to get in out of the cold. It was only when I opened the patio door that I could see that everything from the letter shelf was strewn all around the kitchen. I told the kids to wait outside the house and I went in to investigate.
It was obvious that the house had been burgled. I was nervous
that there might still be an intruder in the house. I turned on every light as I passed through the rooms. It was clear that there was no one in the house, so I gestured to the kids to come in. I rang Brian and told him. Then I asked if I should ring the gardaí. He told me not to and then said he he would be home very shortly. I didn’t clear up the mess until he had seen it. As I passed from room to room, I tried to put together a list of what was actually missing. There wasn’t an awful lot of damage, but there was one thing that was puzzling me — there was no sign of forced entry. How had they got into the house when it was all locked up? No window was broken and no door had been forced. I noticed that all the locks looked fine and hadn’t been damaged.
Something else had me puzzled. As I looked through the list of things that were missing, it appeared everything belonged to me. Some of my jewellery was missing as well as my music system, and so on.
When Brian came home, he walked through the house without saying a word. I on the other hand, was ranting about what I noticed was missing. Then I pointed out that it was only my belongings that had been taken. Brian went into manic mode. He got so annoyed that he picked up one of the pine dining chairs and smashed it to bits on the tiled floor. I said nothing, as I was in shock. After that, he left. The rest of that evening was spent tidying up the house. Robyn helped me. Even she suspected that Brian had staged it. I did too, but for what reason I did not know — especially as we didn’t call the gardaí. Had he thought about claiming insurance and then changed his mind? God only knows what reason he had for staging a break in. It annoyed me that it was my stuff that was taken and I suspected that my belongings were given to Amanda Joyce as gifts.
The rows continued. Brian came home furious one evening, and I guessed that one of his business arrangements had fallen through. I knew that even though it had nothing to do with me, in Brian’s mind it would still be my fault. I would be the one that would pay the price. We were snapping at each other. I was not backing down any more. I was sick of him. He went to the shed and came back with a petrol can and poured the contents all over the kitchen worktops, the cooker and then covered the floor. The smell was so strong that there was no doubt in my mind that it was indeed petrol. He then stood outside the back door and bent down to the floor holding a lighter in his hand, threatening to ignite it. I don’t know how, but I knew he wouldn’t do it. There was a flicker of realisation in his eyes and he came back into the house and proceeded to wash and clean it up. This was just another random act that proved to me that he really was going off the rails. I think one of the reasons that he stopped was he knew burning down the house would affect him. It was his home and he didn’t want to lose it — I don’t think he would have cared if I was burned alive.
Christmas was nearly upon us again. I had been shopping for presents and had decorated the house for the kids. I was determined that this would be the last year that the kids and I would celebrate Christmas in Mitchelstown Cottage. I was so worn out with all of this madness. I was tired of living in fear, and I wasn’t prepared to allow another year of this hell creep by. I was about to make my escape. I was desperate for my children’s safety. If I stayed with Brian there was no doubt now that he would eventually kill me. But if I left him there was the still possibility that he would follow me. I decided to take my chances and leave. I had to at least get my children out of there — out of that hell. They would be safe somewhere else, even if I was not. If it meant that my children were free, I would pay to see it through with my life.
Brian had started ringing cars: he would take the chassis numbers off crashed cars, put them onto stolen cars and sell them on to unsuspecting punters. There was always a selection of cars in the shed, and car parts were always strewn around the drive. Brian now seemed to have a new group of friends, none of whom I knew. They were always banging away at the cars in the shed, repairing whatever they were repairing. There was always a stench of petrol or diesel off Brian’s clothes. I would often find car parts on the kitchen table when I got up in morning. This was another way of making a lot of money very quickly with a single sale.
I wondered how on earth he was getting away with so much. Word around the area was that he was suspected of being a registered garda informant and that may have been why he had escaped any incarceration. A few days before Christmas, Brian took the logbook belonging to my car (a black Fiat Punto). He drove the car to Drogheda and sold it. I went mad. I was due to start work at United Airlines and I would need the car to get there. East Point Business Park was a good distance from Finglas and there was no direct bus or rail service. How was I supposed to get from Finglas to Clontarf ? I thought that he had sold it deliberately, to annoy me. I begged him to go and bring it back, but he refused. This was another attempt to take away my independence. I had a new job, but Brian was determined to get at me by stealing my car and making it impossible for me to get to work. It was infuriating.
It was Christmas Eve. I was in the kitchen when I saw Brian pull into the drive in a brand new metallic-green Ford Focus. When he came into the house he placed the keys in my hand and wished me a Happy Christmas. Then he pointed out the window at my Christmas present. I thought we couldn’t afford a brand new car, but then the penny dropped. It was a ringer. I refused point blank to drive it, and refused to put my kids in it. He went mad and put his fist through the wall in the hallway. The car remained in the drive over the Christmas period.
I knew too well what Brian’s game was. The car wasn’t bought as a Christmas present for me. He was going to have it registered in my name, and would then sell it on at a later stage. If the car was discovered as a ringer, the responsibility would be mine. Brian was furious that I didn’t fall for his trick, but I was still left without a car.
I enjoyed the remainder of Christmas Eve with the kids. We spent Christmas Day in Brian’s parents’ house in Drogheda. I had invited a couple who I knew quite well for dinner on St Stephen’s Day. The couple were in a fix because their heating had broken down and they couldn’t find anyone to repair it over Christmas. I was looking forward to entertaining them. It wasn’t very often that I got the opportunity to have guests.
We had a lovely day. The dinner went well and we had a few drinks in the evening and shared a few laughs. I suggested that they stay over. They agreed and we made up makeshift beds for them. Their three kids and my two had a ball. They all slept on the floor in the living room, playing and making tents with the sheets. After breakfast the following morning, they left for home and I began to tidy the house. I was in good form and had enjoyed seeing the kids have such fun with their friends.
Then out of nowhere — and in front of the children — Brian brutally attacked me. I was subjected to the worst beating yet. I felt like I had spent several rounds in the ring with Mike Tyson. Robyn ran with her little brother into another room, both of them screaming. My body was completely covered in bruises from head to toe. He totally brutalised me. I was so badly beaten that I am sure that I was in need of hospital treatment. I couldn’t move. I had to stay on the living room couch for two days because of my awful injuries. Robyn had to help get me to and from the bathroom.
Brian stayed away from the house after the attack. We had no visitors over those couple of days. I wished someone would call in and help us, or even come and see how bad I was. I was in such pain and still so shaken after the attack. I remembered Brian telling me that the two Finglas brothers were spending the Christmas holidays in Kilkenny, which meant that they would not be around either. On the third day, Brian tried hard to get me to go for a drive with him. He seemed rather anxious and tried his hardest to get me to leave the house. He tried so hard that it made me suspicious, and I became more determined not to give in. I figured out that he must have been expecting someone to call to the Cottage.
I discovered that Brian was expecting the Finglas brothers to drop in to the house. He was trying to get me to leave so that no one would see what he had done to me. He knew that the Finglas brothers would not con
done his behaviour. I think he feared that they would retaliate in some way or shame him as a weak little man that got his kicks from savagely attacking a woman.
I stayed firm in my refusal to leave the house, and Brian eventually gave up and left. I waited for someone, anyone, to call and see my battered body. I wanted them to see what a small-minded sadistic piece of work Brian really was. I was just an object to him — something that he thought he owned and could kick around. I prayed that someone would see what was really going on at the cottage, what was really going on in our relationship and what must be going on in Brian’s sick mind to inflict such brutality on the mother of his son.
During the years that Brian had been beating me, I had been very clever at covering up my bruises with accessories or make-up: sunglasses, concealer, foundation, scarves and baggy jumpers etc. I was so determined to cover up what was going on that I sometimes endured the jumpers and other heavy clothes during the hot summer months. I felt afraid back then that someone might notice the bruising. The thought embarrassed me. I didn’t feel that way anymore. I realised that it was wrong to hide it away. I shouldn’t be ashamed of was happening. It was Brian who should have felt shame. I realised I had had enough — I wanted someone to see what was going on. I wanted someone to see the hurt, humiliation and pain, to see my trauma. Having a witness would make it more real. Then I would know that it wasn’t just the kids and me alone in this nightmare. I wanted Brian’s sick and sordid behaviour to be exposed.
I saw a car come into the drive. I wasn’t surprised to see that it was the youngest of the Finglas brothers. Normally, they would open the patio door at the back of the cottage and call Brian. This time I told him to come through the house. When he came into the living room he seemed shocked by what he saw: ‘Holy fuck! Who done that to ya?’ he asked in disbelief. I told him that it was Brian. He was shocked. He asked me if I was OK, and if there was anything he could do for me. There was nothing that anyone could do for me to make me right. I could only do that myself, but seeing the shock on his face somehow added to my confidence.