Jumping in Puddles

by Claire Allan

  That made her think of Ruth and chide herself that, despite her best intentions, she still hadn’t phoned her to make sure she was okay. After all it was Ruth who had beaten a path to her doorway when she had given the group a miss so Niamh knew she should have returned the favour.

  If she’d had her number she would have given her a call but she didn’t, so she promised that tomorrow she would make that effort and then maybe she would talk to Ruth, who seemed to understand her more than most, and maybe even talk her into coming along for the big showdown.

  The A-Team could live to fight another day. Maybe they could even talk Liam or Detta into driving the big bus up to Derry for the craic.

  Niamh smiled to herself, curled up on the sofa, closed her eyes and began to dream about boots and swimming pools and potato waffles.

  37

  The silence in the car on the journey back to Ciara’s house had been odd. Ruth always thought of herself as a fairly sociable person but perhaps sometimes she really had to admit she was just an old fart in pleasant woman’s clothing.

  It was a bit mad really. She knew Lorraine from out and about in the village. But let’s face it, she knew everyone in the village. In a town the size of Rathinch everyone knew everyone, their business, what they were having for their tea and the size of the clothes flapping on the washing line. So she was annoyed at herself for not being more sociable. Jesus, usually she could talk the back legs off a donkey but that morning she had sat like some grinning eejit driving the car. Demented Dora, that should be her new name she thought. Perhaps if she felt more confident in how she looked that would translate into how she was around other people. They were always saying that on those makeover programmes on Channel 4.

  She was determined she was going to make more of an effort. She had been doing so well with her long walks along the beach. She was sure she would feel her waistbands loosening – and that made her happy. A month ago she had been disgusted with herself while she stood staring at a pair of jeans with an elasticated waist, thinking they might just be the comfiest-looking creations she had ever seen. Shuddering at the thought, she smiled to herself.

  She would get back on track. She would sort things out with Eimear and she would invite Lorraine around for coffee. It was about time she became a social butterfly. She might even make it back to the group the next week – after all, she had nothing to hide. Feeling a little brighter she got up and started to clear away the dinner dishes. She was just wondering if Fairy really did give you softer hands when the front door opened. As all the children were sitting glued to The Simpsons she knew it had to be James. No doubt Matthew had left something in his car or Eimear had called begging some money and he was calling over to oblige. She would have shouted at him about him not actually living there any more, but what would be the point? She didn’t have the strength to argue with him any more – he was out of her life and that was all that mattered.

  Turning to face him she was shocked to see his face was contorted with anger.

  “James, what’s wrong?” she said, folding the tea towel in front of her.

  “Why don’t you tell me?” he said, walking close to her – standing perilously close. She remembered the line from Dirty Dancing about dance space. He was definitely in hers. But he didn’t seem quite in the mood for her to quote it to him.

  She took a deep breath.

  “I don’t know, James,” she said, her heart starting to thump.

  He raised his hand, slowly, almost gently, to the side of her face and stood so that his nose was almost touching hers. He moved his hand around, again slowly and gently, to the back of her head and then pulled her towards him, his hands wrapped in her hair, pulling it tight.

  “The children,” she said, knowing in her heart what was coming. This was a well-rehearsed dance in the Byrne household.

  “What have you told him?” he sneered, his breath rank on her face.

  Every way she turned her head sent a shock of pain through her neck as her hair pulled tighter.

  “Who? I don’t know what you mean,” she said, almost pleading.

  “Don’t lie to me, Ruth. Why are you such a liar?”

  “I’m not,” she said, starting to cry, her eyes darting to the doorway hoping the children wouldn’t hear what was going on.

  “Yes, yes, you are,” he said calmly before releasing his grasp and turning from her. She sagged with relief.

  “Liam has been round,” he said. “He wants to know what is going on. Have you told him? If you have then I’m damn sure you only told him your side of this sorry story.”

  “I’ve not told him anything,” Ruth said, feeling like she was caught in some sick version of Groundhog Day. “I’ve not seen him. I’ve not even been to our group.”

  “Liar!” he shouted, turning towards her, his hand raised this time with no hint of gentleness, no quiet introduction to what was to come.

  She saw it move towards her. She tried to move out of the way, but he always knew where she would go. James always could second-guess her every move. She bit down hard on her lip as his heavy hand connected with the side of her face, sending her hurtling towards the ground.

  “You have to ruin everything!” he shouted.

  “James, the children!” she sobbed.

  “You can’t let anyone be happy. You can’t bear to let anything good happen. You are a useless, evil bitch of a woman and I regret the day I ever set eyes on you, let alone set my hands on you,” he shouted, his eyes darkened with rage. “And I’ll not forgive you for this, Ruth. And I’ll sure as hell never let you forget it.”

  He advanced once more and drew his leg back to kick her. She braced herself for it. She knew what it would feel like. She had felt it so many times before. There was no mystery to this. Closing her eyes she waited for the impact, her heart thumping in her ears, tears falling.

  “NO!” the shout rang out. “No. Leave her alone. Leave her alone now or I’ll call the Guards!”

  James stopped, frozen to the spot and Ruth opened her eyes. Thomas was standing there, his puny fourteen-year-old frame standing tall to his father. Eimear stood behind, her face frozen in fear, while Ruth became aware that she could hear Matthew sobbing.

  James turned, slowly, towards his children as Ruth made to right herself. She was suddenly aware her clothes were dishevelled, her hair over the side of her face.

  “Kids,” he said, his voice weakening, “this is between me and your mum – go back to your TV.”

  “No,” Thomas said resolutely as Eimear started to cry. “Get out, Dad! Get out now!” he shouted, his voice breaking.

  “Look here, Thomas, you don’t talk to me like that!” James roared.

  “No, you’re wrong. This is how I talk to you and I’m telling you to get out.”

  Ruth watched, her heart still thumping as her husband walked towards her son, his hand clenching again. She stood up. She may not ever have been able to do it for herself but by Christ she could do it for her children.

  “No, James! You don’t!” she said, throwing herself at him and pummelling his chest with her first. Years of built-up rage and hurt poured out of her. “You don’t hurt our children. You don’t do that. You get the hell out of my house and you don’t come back!”

  With Thomas and Eimear behind her, she was ashamed to say, she felt stronger and as she and her strong, brave son pushed him out the door, slamming and locking it behind him, she felt something in her change.

  Yes, she was bruised and battered and she had a family of children – stunned into silence – to deal with but her eyes were open at last. (Which given the fact that one was swelling was quite an achievement.) It hadn’t been her fault. She hadn’t asked for it. What a fecking daft notion. Who asks for it? Who wants someone to thump them, hit them and kick them? She wasn’t useless. Here she was, having protected her children up until tonight from any sign of what she had been going through. And she had kept a roof over their heads and yes, Eimear was like the anti-Christ
on speed at times, but she was a good girl at heart and that was down to Ruth. It wasn’t anything to do with the useless big fecker of a man who had just been pushed out the door.

  “I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaking, and she pulled her children into her arms. “I’m so sorry, babies, but that isn’t going to happen again. It’s never going to happen again. I promise.”

  They stood there, in the hall, for a long time, hugging each other and reassuring each other until Ruth moved, stiff and sore, and got some ice for her face.

  “It looks bad, Mum,” Eimear said gently, taking a clean tea towel from the drawer and wrapping some ice in it.

  “I’ll be okay.”

  “I’m so sorry, Mum,” Eimear said, breaking down.

  “You’ve nothing to be sorry for.”

  “But, Mum, he’s my daddy and I love him. But I hate him and you’ve been dealing with this and I’ve been a cow.”

  “Now, pet, enough please,” Ruth said, grimacing as the ice soothed her face. “We’ve all made mistakes but we won’t make them any more. Things are going to be different. Can you get me the phone?”

  38

  Liam was just sitting down to read the latest Hannah Montana book to Poppy when the phone rang.

  “I’ll get it, I’ll get it,” Poppy shouted and ran for the kitchen.

  He wondered if she would be gone long enough to either forget all about the Hannah Montana book, or at least to give him the time to shred it and dispose of the evidence. He had lived through Angelina Ballerina. He had survived the High School Musical years relatively unscathed, but Hannah Montana with her grinning face and cheery outlook was almost enough to drive him to distraction.

  “Daddy, it’s for you,” Poppy called as she ran back to him.

  “Thanks, pet, let me take this and then we’ll read the book.”

  Poppy pulled a face which let him know that she wasn’t one bit impressed at being second-best to a phone call.

  Laim strode into the kitchen and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

  “Liam, thank God you’re in. I need your help.”

  It took a few seconds for him to place the voice and when he did he had to try and hide the smile in his voice. It was unlikely when Detta said she needed his help that she actually meant “Hey there, big guy. Why don’t you come over and let me help you forget all about that Laura one?”, but still he liked it that she needed him.

  “What can I do for you?” he asked.

  “Well, it’s for Ruth really. But, Liam, I need you to stay calm over this and I need you to come now to her house. Could you leave Poppy with your mum and bring your tool kit?”

  His mind began to whirr. Why did Ruth need him? Why did he need to stay calm and why on earth did he have to bring his toolkit with him?

  “Liam?” Detta repeated, her voice softening. “Sorry to be so cryptic, but we really could do with your help.”

  “Okay,” he replied. “I’ll be over as soon as I’ve left Poppy off.”

  Of course Poppy wasn’t one bit happy to be left off at her granny’s. He had to bribe her with the promise of a new Hannah fecking Montana DVD to get her to agree to it.

  Agnes looked at him oddly when he arrived on her doorstep.

  “Detta wants to see him,” Poppy said with a roll of her eyes and a small smile crept over Agnes’s face.

  “Oh, does she now?”

  “It’s not what you think, mother,” Liam replied with a roll of his eyes.

  “And how would you know what I’m thinking?” Agnes said with a sniff before ushering Poppy inside.

  When he arrived at Ruth’s house, every light was lit. Detta‘s car was outside, as was Niamh’s people carrier. Whatever was going on, it had to be some big shakes. Christ, he realised, there was even a Garda car parked two doors up.

  He lifted his toolbag from the seat beside him and walked up the pathway. The door was already open and he saw Eimear sitting on the stairs, the colour of a ghost, being comforted by Ciara.

  “They’re in the front room,” Ciara said, nodding towards the door, and he walked in – not quite sure what would greet him. Christ, he hoped Ruth hadn’t taken it on herself to beat seven shades of the proverbial out of James and Laura. Although he couldn’t see Ruth as the violent type.

  “Liam, you’re here. Thank goodness,” Detta said, standing up and ushering him back out of the room and into the kitchen.

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “Look, Liam, sit down.”

  “I won’t sit down. I’ll have you tell me now what’s happening.” He tried to keep his voice as measured as possible but he was worried now. You don’t tell someone to sit down unless you have bad news for them.

  “Right, first of all then, Laura is fine. This isn’t about Laura. Not really. I think you need to hear that.”

  He breathed out. “So what is it about?”

  “Liam, really, come on, sit down with me, please.”

  She reached out and took his hand and the softness of her touch had a calming effect on him. He sat down and looked into her eyes. They were the softest of blues and he knew instantly he could trust her.

  “Ruth’s been keeping a secret from us. It’s James. He’s good with his hands. He likes to lash out. Now we don’t think he has hit out at Laura, but you need to know – especially if Poppy is about to spend any time with him.”

  “Has he hit his own children?” Liam asked incredulously, thinking if that fecker dared lay a hand on his precious daughter he would do time for him. No question about it. In fact there was no way he was ever going to take the chance that James fecking Byrne could ever get close enough to hurt his daughter. No way.

  Detta shook her head sadly. “No, seems he saved it all for Ruth. He came back tonight and he hit her again. Only for wee Thomas standing up to him she’d be worse off.”

  “How bad is she?”

  “She’s sore-looking all right. I wanted to warn you before you saw her.”

  “Christ,” Liam said, putting his head in his hands. He remembered with sickening clarity how the night before he had marched up to James and Laura’s house like a bull with a sore head and now he wondered if he was responsible?

  “Detta, oh God. This is my fault. I saw James last night. I thought this secret Ruth has been keeping was that they were getting married or something. Jesus . . .”

  “Now, Liam,” Detta said, reaching out to his hands once more, “look at me.” She touched his cheek softly. “This is nothing to do with you. By all accounts it has been going on for years. It’s just the sort of man he is. Now we need you to help. We need you to change the locks for Ruth, and add a few deadbolts – that kind of thing. The guards are here taking a statement and we’ll take it from there, but we want to make sure he doesn’t get back into this house.”

  “Anything. I’ll do anything.”

  “Great. I knew we could count on you. And as for Laura, well, she’ll know about this soon enough so you better prepare yourself for some flack.”

  He nodded. “God, she left me for him? I must be some right catch.”

  “You are, you know. You’re a great catch altogether.”

  If he hadn’t been standing in Ruth Byrne’s kitchen, knowing that the man his wife had left him for had just battered the life out of the poor woman, he would have found the moment very romantic.

  And there it was, dawning on him, finally that his main concern now was Detta and Ruth and his new friends and while, yes, he was concerned about Laura and he would have to talk to her she was no longer the centre of his universe.

  “Right, well, I’ll have to go to the yard to pick up some new locks, but I’ll get straight onto it.”

  Detta nodded, and gave him a soft smile.

  “Can I see Ruth now?”

  “Come on,” Detta said, taking his hand. “I’m sure the guards are nearly done.”

  He walked through and he had to admit he felt a little like an intruder. There was Ciara on the stairs with Ei
mear. He could hear Niamh’s Derry accent as a female guard left the room. He’d never laid his hand on anyone in his entire life, but he felt somehow like the enemy. It was as if James’s actions had tainted all men. He felt sick to his stomach as he looked at Ruth and her blackened eye. There was a small cut to her cheek and her face was pale in stark contrast to the vivid colours of the bruising. She looked old – a lot older than her thirty-seven years – and he wanted to turn in that instant and go and hit James, or kick him in the balls. And not because he had stolen Laura, or that he was a feckwit, but because he had taken the shine out of this most wonderful of women who had become such a friend to him over the last few weeks.

  “I’m so sorry,” Ruth sobbed as he sat down beside her.

  “What on earth do you have to be sorry for?”

  “I should have told you. I’m sorry, Liam. It wasn’t fair of me – not with Laura there. But he’s not hit her. I’m sure of it. But still, I should have told you. Poppy could have seen something.” With that she started to sob.

  “The kids saw it all,” Detta said. “Thomas is in his room and Matthew cried himself to sleep.”

  Liam shook his head. “Ruth, you are not to apologise to me ever again. I understand. And sure, I know now. We all know now so don’t even let it worry you at all – not even for five minutes.”