by Tara Lyons
Rose opens her mouth; no sound escapes. She coughs lightly and turns her head away from me. The silence is suffocating.
Should I speak? Should I wait for her to speak first?
My insides feel like they’re on fire. My body feels like it’s encased in clay and I can’t move. I can, obviously, but there’s a small voice in my head warning me not to rock the boat. The truth is out there. I’ve confessed absolutely everything and apologised a hundred times. There’s nothing more for me to say. I have to play the excruciating waiting game. This is Rose’s time to digest everything – although, when I found out about her and Patrick, I almost threw up. Is this complete silence normal?
‘So…’ Rose speaks with an air of normalcy about her. ‘You’re telling me that I was in fact raped by my father, not just my boyfriend’s father, and my boyfriend is actually my half-brother.’
I feel like I’m five again, tumbling from that tree, winded and gasping. Except this time, there’s not even a hard ground beneath me to break my fall. Rape? Raped? No, Patrick said it was an affair. He had an affair with his son’s girlfriend.
Rape.
Who…?
What…?
How…?
The questions build in my mind. None of them develop into anything more than stutters. I can’t even contemplate asking them out loud, and my thoughts bring with them a lightness. Not in a happy giddy way, but a lightness that threatens to knock me out and snatch all consciousness from me. That is, until Rose speaks again, and I use the small amount of strength I have left to stay focused on her.
‘I ran off to that glamping place because I felt bad. I felt guilty after what had happened between me and…’ She pauses to catch her breath. ‘Because Dylan found out. Well, he hadn’t found out the truth, he knew a version of the truth that his father told him. I couldn’t understand why Patrick told him. Then, when he dragged me from the beach, I could see how sad he was. I mean, he was angry at first, on the beach. Actually, I thought he might drown me at one point. After that, he was crushed. I didn’t think he loved me that much. In all honesty, I thought Sheetal was after him, and Dylan loved the attention he got from her. It was so obvious to see. Then when he thought I’d been with his… Well, he was genuinely gutted. So, I had to wonder: did I lead his dad on? Did I ask to be raped? Was I actually raped if Patrick told Dylan it was an affair? That’s why I felt guilty. That’s why I went away with Penny. I thought I did all of this.’
It’s difficult to stay with Rose’s thoughts as they jump from one thing to another; I’m sure she’s making sense in her own mind, but I’m so confused. It’s not helped by the crushing headache now pounding inside my skull. I can’t stay quiet any more.
‘Rose. Rose, I don’t understand, sweetheart. Patrick told me that you were having an affair with him and–’
‘And he fucking lied,’ my daughter explodes. ‘What, do you believe a rapist over your own child?’
Emotion has irrevocably kicked in and fully taken over Rose’s character. Though she screamed, silent tears run down her face – she’s no longer smooth and porcelain looking, but now red and aged, somehow. Without any warning, she’s out of her seat, quickly pacing the room in a small circle, reminding me of a wild hyena circling its pray.
‘So, Patrick told you and Dylan that we were having an affair. It’s a lie. Yes, I found him attractive, and I thought I wanted something more to happen. When… when he finally did take it further, I told him to stop. I told him to stop–’
The wildness of the beast is visibly sucked from Rose’s body as she falls to her knees, buries her head in her hands and sobs. Loud, shoulder-jerking sobs. I join my daughter on the floor and I cry too. I hold her tightly against my body. Although she doesn’t embrace me in return, she also doesn’t push me away and for that I’m thankful.
‘None of this is your fault, sweetheart. I’m to blame. I’m the one who has lied to you since you were a little girl. If I’d been upfront from the start, you would have known. The name alone would have meant something to you when you came to this university. Or you would have tracked him down long before…’ I shut up, hating my own words. ‘Things just… just would have been different. I’m so sorry.’
I want to be able to speak better. I want to find the words that will explain how sorry I am, and that there are things we can do: counselling, therapy, a holiday. I don’t know. Something. Rose tilts her head up to me and the haggard look she had just moments before has gone. Her tear-stained face and brimming eyes make her look like a five-year-old. My five-year-old little girl.
What have I done?
Before I have time to hate myself further, or pass on some comforting words to my only child, the front room door bursts open which such force it slams against the wall. We jerk in each other’s arms and turn to find a very handsome young man standing in the doorway, with a petrified-looking Sheetal dithering behind him. No formal introductions are needed. He looks too much like his father for me to not know this is Dylan.
‘You.’
The huskiness of his voice only amplifies the venom in his tone further as he spits out that one word. I feel Rose’s body go rigid beneath me; why does Dylan scare her so much? There’s no need for her to worry because his hate isn’t being aimed at her – his bulldog expression is aimed directly at me.
‘You’ve ruined my family. My life. What the fuck is wrong with you?’ he continues. He doesn’t take a step further, though I can see his hands are balled into tight fists.
‘Sheetal, you need to leave,’ Rose says, and like some graceful dancer slipping through the air, she’s out of my hold and standing between me and Dylan. ‘This is… is… this doesn’t concern you.’
Sheetal hesitates for a moment, no doubt feeling the suffocating tension as much as I am, but she says nothing. Dylan snakes further into the room and slams the door shut on Rose’s housemate. I’m trying to fight the rising panic threatening to consume my entire body, but it’s hopeless; the fear is too strong. Why am I fearful of two kids? Two students, for heaven’s sake, and one of them is my own flesh and blood.
Probably because you’ve ruined their lives, as Dylan so clearly put it… a menacing voice echoes in my head.
‘Dylan, listen.’ Rose’s voice is calm, whisper-like, and she takes a step towards him, slowly, as if trying to tame a crazy beast – ironic, really, when I just compared her to one. ‘I’m sorry. I… I don’t know what to say–’
‘Your mum is a sick freak and you…’ The spittle dances wildly from his mouth. ‘It was bad enough when I thought you were a cheap slut who slept around with my father, but now… now… Oh my God, it’s disgusting.’
A thought occurs to me. ‘How do you know?’
Dylan snaps his head in my direction: his lips curled, his forehead creased as he frowns, his shoulders visibly slouched. This boy really is embodying the threat of a wild animal. It’s important I don’t say the wrong thing and antagonise him.
‘My mum,’ he answers, his tone still hoarse as if he’s been shouting for hours. Or crying – that can have the same effect on a person’s voice. It’s then I notice the redness surrounding his eyelids, and my second thought is confirmed. ‘Because it wasn’t bad enough that you kept this dirty secret to yourself for over twenty years? My father had another child. Rose. Rose is his daughter.’ He repeats the facts, but I get the feeling it’s for his own benefit; he needs to hear the words again to make them real in his mind. ‘Then you have to declare all to my mum while she’s in hospital. Alone. Stuck in the bed, so she can’t even get up and give you the bitch-slap that you deserve.’
As if that ignites a spark in him, Dylan lurches forward with his hand outstretched and wallops me around the face.
‘Stop!’ Rose yells.
‘She deserves it.’
‘Yes, she does, but you don’t know when to flaming well stop.’
Rose has both our attention. Dylan flinches, as if it’s him who received the smack, and I want to know what s
he means.
‘Has he hit you, Rose?’ I ask while pressing my palm to my cheek; it does nothing to extinguish the fire blazing on my skin.
‘Mum, now is not the time. Dylan and I–’
‘Don’t give me that, young lady. Has this thug hit you before?’
Dylan groans and walks to the other side of the room. Rose says, ‘He’s not a thug, Mum. Jesus Christ, don’t overreact. He got a bit rough with me on the beach last week when he found out, when Patrick told him we were having an affair. He’s whacked you now because you fucking well deserve it.’
I cringe; my daughter’s words hurt but she’s right. An image of the beach is resurrected in my mind. ‘Your ruby jewel…’
‘What? How do you know I lost that? It was an accident. Dylan didn’t mean to grab me so hard. He was just so hurt when he thought…’
‘I found it,’ I say. My words are distant, and my thoughts are already somewhere else. I turn to face the angry boy. ‘Your father told you that he was having an affair with Rose? Why would he offer up that information voluntarily?’
The intensity in Dylan has diminished, and he whispers, ‘Because I saw Rose leaving his office and I confronted him. I always had my suspicions that he fancied her. Oh my God, stop talking about this. It’s making me feel sick.’
I disregard his pleas; this twisted mess has been ignored for long enough. ‘So you and your father returned to the hospital, your mother flipped out and… and what? Did he still say it was just an affair?’
‘What are you on about, you crazy woman?’
‘Mum, stop.’
‘Your father raped Rose. It wasn’t an affair. It wasn’t consensual. It was rape. That monster has you believing what he wants, to the extent that you think you can rough up my daughter.’
Dylan slides to the floor, grabbing chunks of his hair and balling his hands into fists. The sobs are quiet, but the shaking shoulders are rapid. The internal battle with his emotions is clear.
‘I just… I don’t know what to believe. I don’t want to believe any of this. Affair, r-rape… This is all too much. How could you do this to us? I just need to find my father.’
My head is exploding. I feel as sick to my stomach as this poor boy. I push those feelings away for now, and my own angry beast crawls to the surface.
‘So why did you come here?’ I ask.
He shrugs, and part of me wants to kick his leg and awake the creature again because at least that side of him had something to say. Instead I crouch down, lightly touch his knee and tell him I’m sorry. It’s not a lie – ha, there’s my old friend irony again.
‘Dylan, why did you think your dad would be here?’
He looks up, drags his sleeve along his nose and sniffs. ‘Well, it was here or home. I took a chance and came here, thinking he would be as angry as I am and might come here looking for you or Rose. He just seemed… I don’t know, I’ve never seen him like that. The way he left the hospital, I mean. I’m worried about him.’
‘Your mum was angry with him?’ I’m not sure if that’s a question or a statement.
‘Angry? No. She couldn’t stop crying. She called him disgusting and a monster and… and so much more, but it wasn’t out of anger. It was out of pure sadness. She said she never wanted to see him again. I could see the pain all over his face.’
I can imagine the look Dylan is talking about. For all his flaws, Patrick loves Sadie; it would almost be fairy-tale like if our lives weren’t such a nightmare. That woman is his kryptonite.
‘Where do you live, Dylan?’
‘Yeah, right, as if I’m telling you. So you can do more damage to my family?’
Rose steps forward. ‘If you’re worried about him, just let my mum go. She started this mess. It’s up to her to try to fix it. She can go back to the hospital with your dad and… I don’t know, talk to your mum.’
There’s something in Rose’s voice. I can’t pinpoint what it is, but I don’t like it. She wants me to leave, that much I can tell, so I can only assume her calm exterior is false. She’s as confused and angry and sad as the stooped little boy in front of me. If it’s time away from me she needs, I’ll give it to her for now. Anyway, her words do the trick and Dylan gives me his home address, and even fishes his car keys from his jeans pocket and tells me to take them.
Out in the fresh air, I’m surprised to see it is still daylight. That room was filled with such darkness, it feels as though it should be night-time. I’m grateful for the car. It will get me to Patrick quicker; not that I want to help him reconcile with his wife. No, of course I bloody don’t want that. The beast in me – and we all have one, we just need to discover what will entice it to the surface of who we are; a lot of the time it’s because our children are in danger or have already faced that danger – wants answers and retribution. I know I started all this. That one lie has spiralled out of control and ruined lives, more lives than I could have ever imagined. Patrick, he chose to be the monster he is. To treat my daughter the way he has… Okay, he didn’t know she was his biological daughter – and that blame will always stay with me – but he knew she was someone’s daughter. She was a woman who had the choice. He took that away from her. Snatched it away when she begged him not to. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, he continued with the betrayal and lied to his son, telling him that Rose had consented, and caused his son to lash out at her. My anger towards Dylan is only dampened by the fact that I know it’s Patrick’s fault for what his son did.
I’m used to saving people’s lives, but right now I want to take a life away.
That’s an awful thought. I didn’t mean to think it.
I was wrong. What the beast inside me wants is justice for my daughter.
Chapter 37
I find Dylan’s car easily enough – despite his only description being ‘the black one outside’ – as the left front wheel has mounted the kerb right outside Rose’s house. The boy must have been in a rush to get to us… well, to get to me. I’d say he was in as much of a rush as I am to get to his father.
You’re probably thinking: how the fuck do I know where to drive to? I don’t live in Brighton but I’m screeching off in a kid’s car on a mission. Well, luckily, that kid’s car is a new, fancy-type one with a large digital screen – not just for the radio but also for the satnav. Dylan told me to hit the home button and his car would tell me exactly where to go… probably not in the Knight Rider manner I’d enjoy. I shouldn’t let my mind wander.
It took only twenty minutes, and now I’m sitting outside Patrick’s house. It’s beautiful. A tall townhouse with the seafront as its view. Bay windows and plants are growing in the front garden. Why do things always seem idealistic when they’re the things you want and can’t have? Well, wanted. This life – being married to Patrick Malone – is the last thing I crave now. If only I’d known that before I decided to lie to Rose.
Before I can talk myself out of it, I jump from the fancy car and march up the path towards the door; that’s when I notice the garage to the right of the house. The door is open, and Patrick’s car is parked inside. I remember it from the day I saw him outside Rose’s house. Surely that means he’s here.
I bang on the front door, but it’s quiet inside and there’s no movement to make me think anyone is going to answer. Peeping through the letter box doesn’t help. With the falling light behind me as the sun makes its decent and the lack of light inside, it’s just a game of shadows and I can’t make anything out. It certainly looks empty.
The sea breeze whips around my legs, almost as if it’s trying to tug me away from the house. Walking away from the front door, I ignore my gut feeling. I ignore the gale, I ignore Dylan’s car waiting for me, and I head to the right towards Patrick’s garage.
There’s a door inside the garage, and it leads into the house. I don’t want to think about what I’m doing. If I ask myself too many questions, I’ll talk myself out of what I’m about to do. Plus, it’s not really breaking in if the door is unlocked
and… Hey, there you go, it is.
The darkness from outside follows me into a utility room and then the kitchen. I want to turn the lights on, make some noise, call out Patrick’s name, but a part of me also wants to just be – to wander around the house I could have had if things had been different. Wander around the house of the man who raped my daughter. Part of me just doesn’t want anyone to know I’m here. I’m unsure of why, because I have no idea what I plan to do.
There’s a glimmer of light up ahead of me, coming from a room on the left, down the hallway, so I follow it. The internal beast that was so active only thirty minutes previously seems to be cowering somewhat, and my overactive imagination is in play as I picture Patrick sitting in a large armchair facing the door with a gun in his hand. This was all a ruse: Dylan coming to the house, Rose telling me to go, the quiet and emptiness yet an open garage door inviting me. The three of them worked together to get me here. Revenge for telling Sadie the truth and for lying to everyone for all these years. Patrick will shoot me dead in his home the moment I enter that room.
Why would I? If I really think that’s what’s about to happen, why the hell would I go in?
To be proven right? To be proven wrong? Or because I think I deserve what’s coming?
Stupidity or bravery?
Whatever makes me walk on, that’s exactly what I do. As I cross the threshold, into a very grand family living room, I glimpse someone’s legs and feet. Walking further into the room, and casting my eyes along the stiff figure on the floor, I realise it’s Patrick. Next to him is an empty vodka bottle, but there’s something more to this… something about how his body has fallen on the floor. There’s more of a preparation to it, rather than a falling-down-blind-drunk look about it. Then there’s the piece of paper in his hand – I can just make out the scribbled word ‘Sadie’ written on it – and the empty bottle of pills under the other hand.