A dull, yellowish glow lit the small room. It was a very feminine room. Three walls were painted a dusky pink and the fourth was papered with a delicate flowery pattern. A white wooden wardrobe stood opposite the bed, next to a tall white bookcase packed full of romantic and historical paperbacks. A couple of framed cross-stitches of cottages hung on the walls. It wasn’t a room in Ma’s house. Oh Christ, what if it was a room in Jamie Doyle’s house and he’d…? No! Surely it was too feminine and I imagined Nia had no say in the décor of their home.
The door opened and a shadow crept along the wall. My heart raced uncontrollably. I could have wet myself with relief when Aisling’s voice said, ‘Is that you awake, Clare?’
‘Where am I?’
She shuffled into the room. ‘Mrs Shaughnessy’s house.’ She placed a glass of water on the bedside cabinet.
‘The Black Widow? Why?’
‘She saw the whole thing. She’s the one who called the Guards.’
I closed my eyes. ‘What happened?’
She sat down on the end of the bed. ‘Don’t you remember?’
‘I was about to leave, but Nia had my scarf. She… Jesus! Jamie Doyle!’ I sat upright and grabbed Aisling’s arm. ‘You’ve got to warn her. She’s not safe. He’s violent.’
‘I know. It’s okay. The Guards took him after he knocked you out.’
‘He knocked me out?’
‘Mrs Shaughnessy says he struck you and you went down like a sack of spuds.’
Aware that my face was throbbing, I reached up and touched my cheeks, wincing as I felt the swollen skin. I gently moved my fingers and they made contact with what I assumed were some Steri-Strips.
‘The doc came and patched you up.’ She shook her head. ‘You really don’t remember him hitting you?’
‘I remember him hitting me all right. On the night of my sixteenth birthday. Right before he raped me.’
Several hours then passed in a blur of visits from the doctor and the Guards. They took statements, they took photos, they took swabs from my nails and a sample of my saliva.
The incident in the laneway soon came back to me. Jamie had lunged at me, thrusting the scarf across my mouth like a gag and grabbing both sides of my head. Nia, who’d obviously ignored his orders to go into the house, screamed and hurled herself at him. Her tiny frame was no match for his bulk and he’d swatted her away as though she were a fly. Seeing my sister pushed to the ground, anger-induced adrenaline flowed through my veins and I finally unfroze. I tried to knee Jamie in the balls, but he was too quick and jumped back, knocking me off balance on my heels. As I staggered to regain my stance, he drew his fist back and hit me square on the cheekbone. I was already on an unsteady footing, so the force sent me to the ground and I hit my head. Dr Ellory suspected that the blow to my head hadn’t actually knocked me out but that I’d passed out as a result of the trauma of remembering the rape.
The memory of what Jamie had done to me on my sixteenth birthday – which I’d somehow managed to bury deep in the recesses of my brain for nearly two decades – was now as vivid as if it had happened yesterday. Dr Ellory explained that it was normal for repressed memories to feel very recent at the point of their return. He suggested that Taz’s attack at New Year had started to awaken them, which was why I’d been having bad dreams and seeing shapes and shadows. Then the sight of Jamie Doyle again, brandishing a gag and laughing that chilling laugh, had been the final turn of the key to unlock Pandora’s box.
I discovered that, after I’d fallen to the ground unconscious, Mrs Shaughnessy had alerted the Guards before running across the road and into Ma’s house, screaming for Keenan and Éamonn to help. Nia had staggered to her feet and launched herself at Jamie, kicking, screaming and biting. He’d grabbed her arms and bent one of them behind her back with such force that he actually broke it. Keenan and Éamonn had managed to rugby-tackle him to the ground at that point, and several of the mourners had kept him pinned there until the Guards arrived.
The whole time he was pinned to the ground, he screamed and shouted about what a whore I was and how I deserved to be attacked, and how Nia was just as bad, which was why he had to give her a damn good beating on a regular basis. I cried when Aisling told me that. Nia was tiny. What sort of monster would do something like that? But I pictured him pinning me down in the farmhouse and hurting me so badly that I knew exactly what sort of monster would do that. Jamie Doyle. A man whose father’s bad blood flowed through his veins, exactly like he’d said.
‘Are you sure you want to be alone tonight?’ Aisling said, as she drove my hire car towards the centre of Cork the following evening.
I twisted round in the passenger seat to see out the back window, where Mrs Shaughnessy was following us in Aisling’s car.
‘Mrs Shaughnessy’s been grand, but I can’t stay there a second night. It’s not fair on her and it’s making me feel on edge.’
‘Jim’s locked up. He can’t get to you.’
‘I know. I was thinking more about Ma.’ I’d made no objections to staying in Ballykielty the previous evening, grateful for the rest and the emotional support. But with each passing hour today, I felt increasingly agitated, expecting Ma to storm across the road and have another go at me.
‘You could have stayed at my place.’
‘I couldn’t let Torin and Briyana see me like this. They’d have questions.’ She couldn’t argue with that. They’d want to know why their Auntie Clare’s face was covered in bruises. How could we tell them their Uncle Jim had thumped me, then thumped their Auntie Nia, then had to be pinned down by their Uncle Keenan and Uncle Éamonn until the Guards arrived to arrest him? Oh, and now he was in custody being questioned, not just about that incident but about fifteen years of domestic violence and the assault and rape of a minor.
‘I’m worried about you, on your own, after what you’ve been through.’
‘You don’t need to be. I could actually do with some time on my own to get my head around everything. Remember, I’m tough as old boots. It takes a hell of a lot to knock me down.’ I could hear the shake in my voice. I felt anything but tough right now, but I definitely did want to be alone for a while.
Aisling gave me a sideways glance and I couldn’t bring myself to catch her eye. One more sympathetic look and I’d crumble.
‘You and I both know you’re not and that what’s happened to you would be enough to push anyone over the edge,’ she said gently. ‘But we also know that you’re stubborn and nothing I say is going to change your mind, is it now?’
‘No, but I appreciate you offering.’
We pulled into the hotel car park and exited the cars. I thanked Mrs Shaughnessy for everything she’d done and was a little surprised when she pulled me into her arms and held me tightly. ‘If you need anything... anything at all… you’ll be sure to let me know, won’t you?’ She sounded as if she was about to burst into tears. I raised my eyebrows at Aisling over her shoulder but she shrugged, clearly as confused as me by Mrs Shaughnessy’s reaction.
Twenty minutes later, I was in my PJs, curled up on the wide armchair overlooking the River Lee, sipping on a large glass of wine. I’d hesitated by the bar as I crossed the lobby, wondering if it might be more sensible to have a hot drink instead of alcohol. But I wanted the memories to be numbed.
Remembering that night meant I now had the explanation for something that had been bothering me – why I hadn’t told Daran when I found out I was pregnant, and how I’d got pregnant in the first place when I’d taken the morning-after pill. After what Jamie did, it was more important than ever that I took that pill but I’d been sick several times that morning – probably from the shock – so it clearly hadn’t made it into my system. As for not telling Daran about the baby, there was a very good explanation – I had no idea who the father was. I pictured Shannon. Looks-wise, anyone could see that she was my daughter. Personality-wise, she was very much like me too. I hadn’t seen anything of Daran in her so far. Was there anything
of Jamie Doyle in her? Jesus, I hoped not. What about the red hair on Luke? Had that been Jamie’s genes that had skipped a generation? If that violent rapist was Shannon’s father, did that make any difference to how I felt about her and Luke?
So many questions. No answers. I gulped down the rest of my glass, poured another and took a big gulp of that. I looked over at my suitcase and chewed my lip.
It was time.
43
I stuffed the last letter back into its envelope and shook my head slowly. He’d never known I was pregnant. Daran said he’d wondered and had even asked Father Doherty, but he’d categorically been told I wasn’t.
I poured another glass of wine. Bollocks! That was the end of the bottle. The second bottle.
I’d cried and laughed and cried some more as I read through Daran’s letters. His early ones were filled with regret that he’d been the cause of my exile, but no regret about our relationship. He poured out his ongoing love and devotion to me, and his longing that we’d be reunited once more. As time progressed, his letters became chattier. The expressions of eternal love were still there, but it was as though he were right next to me, chatting about his day and his hopes for the future.
When he moved to Sumatra, the letters had arrived less frequently. The love was still there, but there was also a resignation that we weren’t going to see each other again. There was so much of God’s work to be done over there that he couldn’t ever see himself leaving, but he didn’t think it was the right place for me.
I didn’t need to read my letters to him, because I knew they followed the same pattern – hope followed by resignation that Da had succeeded and we’d never be together.
I rummaged in the pile for the second one he’d sent, scattering the others to the floor. He quoted 1 Corinthians, chapter 13, verse 13 – a verse from the Bible that is heard frequently during wedding ceremonies: ‘And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.’
I think of this verse constantly. It’s so perfect for us right now. I HOPE that you’re happy and are being treated well, wherever you’ve been sent. I have FAITH that God will reunite us when the timing is right because He was the one who brought us together. He believes in us. And, of course, my LOVE for you will last until the end of time and beyond…
The words, which were already blurred from the wine, became even more blurred as tears dripped onto the page. I swiped at them, determined not to cry. If I cried for what we’d lost and what could have been, they’d have won. Da would still be controlling my life.
A knock on my door made me jump. I glanced at the phone. I hadn’t ordered a third bottle of wine, had I? I staggered over to open the door, bouncing off the bed, then overcompensating and ricocheting off the wall on my way.
‘Ben! How…?’
‘Aisling called last night. I’d have come then but there were no more flights.’ He reached out his arms. ‘I thought you might need a friend.’
‘I need a friend,’ I whispered. With his strong arms round me, the tears started again. ‘He raped me, Ben. That bastard raped me.’
He stroked my back and held me tight. ‘I know. I’m so sorry. I’m here now and nobody can hurt you anymore.’
At some point in the early hours, my eyes flickered open. My mouth felt as if I’d eaten sand, my cheeks were tight from unwashed tears, my eyes stung, and my head thumped. I focused on Ben, fully clothed on top of the duvet, and smiled to myself. My knight in shining armour. Again. Yes, I felt terrible, but I felt safe.
When I awoke again, Ben was sitting by the window, reading a newspaper. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, folding the paper and placing it on the table.
‘Hungover.’
‘I’m not surprised.’ He nodded towards the two empty bottles on the dressing table.
I rubbed my head. ‘Was I coherent last night?’
‘You were a bit slurred and very upset but I got the gist.’
‘Did I make an eejit of myself?’
He sat down on the bed next to me. ‘You could never make an idiot of yourself. And, if you had, you’d have had every right to. You’ve had a heck of a few days. I’m sorry about your dad.’
‘I’m not.’ I looked away, reluctant to let Ben see the hate in my eyes. ‘He wasn’t a nice man.’
‘What happens next?’
‘It’s his funeral today.’
‘Are you going?’
I looked at Ben again. ‘Ma ordered me not to.’
‘So are you going?’
‘I just said—’
‘You just said that your mum told you not to. The Clare I know does her own thing – not what others tell her. In fact, the Clare I know is more likely to do something that she’s told not to do.’
‘What if that Clare is sick of fighting? What if they’ve broken her?’
Ben gently pushed a tress of hair behind my ear, revealing my bruised cheek. He looked at me with sadness in his eyes. ‘No. She’s not broken. She’s been bashed about a lot, physically, mentally and emotionally, but she’s not broken. She’s too strong for that.’
‘Do you really think so? I don’t feel very strong at the moment.’
He smiled. ‘That’s because you’re hungover, you’re wearing your PJs, and you have a panda-eye situation going on with your mascara. I guarantee that you’ll feel better after a shower.’
‘Have the leprechauns turned it into magic water that’ll take away the memories of what Jamie Doyle did?’
‘Of course. I ordered it especially.’ Ben put his arm round me and I cuddled into his side as he kissed the top of my head. ‘You and I both know that a shower is going to make sod-all difference to the trauma that your mind had managed to bury. Only time can do that. I know a great counsellor who specialises in this field and I’d urge you to see her. Your friends will get you through this, your family will get you through this, and you’ll get yourself through this. You could choose to let your mum and that rapist win, but you’re not going to, are you? Having seen you going after that king with such determination, I know how competitive you are. You’re going to win this time, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ I whispered.
‘Sorry, did you say something?’
‘I said, yes.’
‘I think I might be going a bit deaf in my old age. I’m sure I heard a noise, but I couldn’t quite make it out.’
I laughed. ‘Yes! I’m going to win!’
He hugged me tighter and kissed my head again before releasing me. ‘And she’s back in the room.’
‘Thanks, Ben. I can’t remember if I said it last night, but I’m glad you’re here. So very glad.’
‘You did. About twenty times, as it happens, but it’s good to hear it sober. You don’t have to go through any of this alone from now on. I know you kept Daran and Shannon secret from everyone for years. I know that your mind kept what that Jamie Doyle did secret from you for all that time too. But we know now and we’re here to help you get through it. If you want to talk, we’ll talk. If you want to focus your mind elsewhere, we’ll do that. You know me. I can talk mindless bollocks any time you want!’
I laughed again. He really was an amazing friend.
‘Go on, get yourself in the shower, because the only thing you’re going to win looking like that is a Halloween competition for scariest make-up.’
I rolled off the bed and looked in the mirror. My eyelids were black with mascara and eyeliner smudges, and my cheeks were covered in black streaks. Add in the bruising and it was definitely scary. ‘Jesus! Would you look at the state of me? I’m surprised you didn’t jump on the first flight home last night.’
‘Believe me, it was very tempting.’
I shook my head in disbelief at my reflection. Had I really let them do that to me? Ben was right. I was a fighter and I was going to win. It was easy to think of it as a façade that I’d built up to cope with my exile and Shannon being taken away from me but I’d always been strong and confident, even as
a young child. It was who I was.
‘I’d better get myself ready for a funeral, hadn’t I?’
Ben smiled. ‘Will you be taking a handbag?’
‘Of course. Why?’
He reached into his pocket and took out the king. ‘Because you’re going to need somewhere to keep this.’
44
‘Wow! You look amazing,’ Ben said.
I smoothed down the sides of my straight black dress and adjusted the hot-pink belt. ‘You’ll notice I’m not fully embracing the black-for-mourning concept,’ I said, indicating the belt and the matching pink stilettos.
‘Why should you? You’re not in mourning, are you?’
‘No.’
‘I think more people should wear sparkly pink stilettos for funerals.’
I reached for my coat. ‘You’re sure you don’t want to stay here?’
‘And miss the fireworks when your mum sees you? No chance!’
I laughed, but my stomach churned. Despite the splash of daring colour, and all the bravado, I was absolutely bricking it, and I knew Ben knew that I was.
When Ma had thrown me out on Thursday, I’d told Aisling I’d slip into the back of the church, but I’d changed my mind as I’d leaned against the car in the laneway. What was the point in attending? I’d already sought the reassurance I needed that he was really gone and I had no intention of crossing swords with Ma again. Yet, lying in the spare room at Mrs Shaughnessy’s yesterday morning, I’d found myself wanting to attend. I’d thought about Daran and what he’d say. He’d have acknowledged that Da was a cruel man who, on the face of it, didn’t deserve my forgiveness, but he’d also have reminded me that Da had thought his actions – however selfish or wrong – were the right actions for Shannon. It could be argued that my actions in giving up Shannon were selfish or wrong, but they were also the ones I believed were right for Shannon. She’d (sort of) forgiven me. Well, God would judge Da and decide whether or not to forgive him; I didn’t need to. My role was to say goodbye and perhaps even feel sorry for a man whose narrow-minded views had pushed aside his chance of a happy, loving family.
Coming Home to Seashell Cottage Page 24