by Tara Lyons
This is it. This is what I wanted.
The man who ruined my life, who ruined my daughter’s life, has saved me the trouble of seeking justice for myself.
I quickly crouch down to check his pulse. It’s faint. Patrick is still with us. Who knows how long for, because who knows how long he’s been lying here? Surely not much time has passed between him leaving the hospital and Dylan storming in on me and Rose, so there’s plenty of time for Patrick to be saved. Isn’t there? I’m sure a neighbour will come knocking, once they see the garage door open and his car parked up. They’ll make the 999 call that will save him.
And then I’m backing away from him. I’m standing at the door again – this time, like a spy, or maybe even a hitman, waiting to watch the monster on the floor take his last breath. Yet I’m not a hitman at all because he chose to take his life. I did nothing.
Really? Is that true? Wasn’t it my lie that created this?
Patrick Malone deserves to die. Surely you can’t deny that? Look at what he’s done in his life; from the affair with me in Scotland to raping a student in Brighton. And they’re just the things we know about. Imagine what else he could have possibly done over the years. Even if he wasn’t Rose’s biological father, what he did to her was unforgiveable.
There are two sides to every story: she says he raped her, and he says they were having an affair.
I cringe at my own thoughts. How can I even say that to myself? Rose would never lie about a thing like that. This man lying on the floor is the epitome of scum and doesn’t deserve a place in this world. Patrick Malone destroyed my life. He is a liar, a cheat, a monster…
Those words not only describe Patrick, but they also describe me. I am those things. I too have ruined lives. Who the hell am I to decide who gets to live or die? Isn’t that why I became a paramedic? Human interaction, how people react, how people suffer and heal – that’s what brought me to my profession. I never meant to destroy anyone’s life with my lie.
But if I let Patrick die, that lie will probably die with him. I’d bet my life on Rose and Dylan, and even Sadie, not wanting anyone to know the truth. Therefore, no one will know I’m anything but the paramedic who saves people every day, and not the woman who told one monstrous lie that caused a half-brother and sister to have a relationship, a father to sleep with his daughter, a man to take his own life.
No, death is never the right kind of justice. Just because I have Rose back, it doesn’t give me the authority to play God.
I grab my mobile from my pocket, dial the emergency services and balance the mobile between my shoulder and cheek. My voice is calm and professional, as if I’m working on a job I’ve been called to, and I relay all the information I have to the call handler while working on Patrick’s airways.
Within half an hour the storm has been and gone. Dylan and Rose arrived at the house at the same time as the ambulance – they didn’t know what Patrick had done, but they must have realised it wasn’t a good idea to have two furious parents alone together. While waiting for the ambulance to arrive I kept my fingers on Patrick’s pulse, as it was so weak. He lost it before the paramedics arrived, so I did what comes naturally to me and started CPR – the old-fashioned mouth-to-mouth way. I saved his life. Then I gladly handed him over to the Brighton paramedic duo – luckily not the same two I already saw today.
Dylan went to the hospital with his father, of course – the poor boy now has both parents there – and I find myself standing on the seafront with Rose. She’s quiet, but she’s brooding, I can tell. There’s another storm on the way. It’s brewing inside of her and the atmosphere between us feels as dark as the overcast clouds swirling above our heads.
‘Rose, is there anything you want to–’
‘Do you still love him?’ she interrupts.
‘Who? Patrick?’ I snort. I don’t know why I made that noise – am I trying to laugh off her question or is because I feel so numb inside that I’m incapable of answering the question? ‘Don’t be so ridiculous.’ This seems to be the safest reply.
‘Then why did you save him?’
I sigh, understanding where she’s going with this. ‘Because that’s my job, sweetheart.’
‘No,’ she almost yells. ‘You’re a mother before you’re a paramedic. Your job is to look after me, make sure I’m safe, not strangers and certainly not scum like Patrick Malone.’
‘Rose, darling–’
‘No, Mum.’ She swivels around to look directly at me, her lips turned down in disgust, her cheeks flushed bright red, her forehead furrowed – a face contorted with rage. ‘As if it isn’t bad enough that I fancied this man, that I was attracted to my own fucking father. Then to have him… have him force himself on me. To have him… tear down my knickers.’ Fresh gushing tears are added to her rage. ‘All of that and then… I don’t even want to think about me and Dylan and what that means. I will never forgive you for lying to me.’
With that final blow, Rose turns on her heels, running away from me. The exhaustion could be overlooked. I could leg it after her, pleading and begging. I know there’s no point. After everything she just said, I’d be mad not to realise she needs some time. Time away from me. How long, exactly, I really don’t know, but the worst thing I can do is push her. I can’t force her to talk to me, or to see me, and I shouldn’t have to. She’ll come back to me when she’s ready, when she’s calmed down, and I can explain everything to her. The reason I told this bloody lie was all for her. My own words come back to haunt me – I have to continue with this lie because I’m not about to ruin my daughter’s life – yet even though I believed what I’d done was the right thing when Rose was a child, it’s actually the exact thing that has ruined my daughter.
I have to admit that. I have to embrace my mistakes if I ever hope to make Rose understand. What I did was so terribly wrong. I see that now more than I ever thought I could. Surely, in time, my daughter will realise that too, and she’ll let me defend myself, won’t she?
Rose is safe. At the moment, that is what really matters: that I have Rose back in my life and, soon enough, we’ll be able to restore our relationship to what it was. She will forgive me, and I know I will never ever lie to my daughter again.
Chapter 38
It’s been a week and a half and Rose hasn’t returned any of my calls or replied to any of my messages. It’s like my life is stuck in an unpleasant loop, mocking me, taking away the one important thing to me. Again.
Part of me knows that I had to tell the truth; it was cruel and unfair and wrong to let them all live in that lie. I understand that, I really do. Yet there is a slither of something inside me, a piece of me that wants to hold on to my life when it was simpler, and when Rose called me every day, even sent me Snapchat videos to make me smile. My daughter was back in my life, so did I really have to tell the truth? If I hadn’t, it could have been Rose curled up on the sofa with me instead of Adele.
My crew member knows everything. It would seem that now I’ve opened up about my dark secret, I can’t shut up. I’ll tell anyone who’s interested that I’m an evil liar who wrecked her daughter’s life.
‘You’re not evil,’ Adele says. ‘Flaming hell, Abi, how could you have ever known that that one lie would lead to… to this destruction.’ I throw her a look and drain my glass of wine. ‘Okay, destruction is a harsh word, but I’m not here to sugar-coat things.’
I roll my eyes and refill both our glasses. ‘No? Why are you here then?’
‘To make sure you’re okay. Dave is really worried about you. Everyone at the station is. How long do you plan on staying on sick leave?’
‘There’s things I need to sort out, Adele. I can’t just slip back into my old routine. Things aren’t how they used to be. Rose could come home at any time, looking for answers and wanting to understand what happened all those years ago. Plus, there’s my mum. I haven’t visited her or returned any of the calls from the hospice. Oh my God, do you see how evil I really am?’
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nbsp; Adele’s lips twist like she’s snarling, and her nostrils flare, but it’s not in an evil looking way. ‘Well then, girl, you need to get out of your pyjamas. Maybe even have a shower too. Stop feeling sorry for yourself and moping around.’ I want to interrupt, tell her to stop talking and bossing me around, but she places her palm in front of my face and continues. ‘Listen to me. Rose will not come to you. For heaven’s sake, some twisted shit went down in Brighton, she’s a broken woman and, at the moment anyway, you’re the cause of that pain.’
‘I thought something awful happened to her–’
‘And it did.’
It’s my turn to flare my nostrils. ‘I meant I thought she died.’
‘Abi, a part of her probably did die that night. She sees you as being the driving force behind that. It’s been just over a week since she discovered the truth; that’s nothing in terms of moving on or coming to terms with things. Give her time. For now, visit your mum, come back to work and focus on getting yourself back to normal. You can’t help your daughter in this state. Oh, and have a wash will you, woman?’
There’s a lightness to her tone. She’s trying to make me laugh, but that I can’t do, so I offer her a small smile of some kind and hope she recognises that I’m grateful.
‘You know, Dave really fancies the arse off you, Abi.’
‘What?’ I’m thrown by Adele’s curveball.
‘Oh, come on, you can’t tell me you really haven’t noticed. If you asked him out for a drink, he would jump at the chance. Maybe you should.’
‘You’ve got to be kidding me. Are we really back here again?’
Adele puts the wine glass down and turns to face me full-on; it’s a bit intense. ‘Look, I don’t mean marry the guy, but I think it’s time you had some fun in your life again. If you won’t do that – if you won’t have a cheeky date with Dave – then at least talk to someone about all this. A professional, I mean, not just me, as understanding as I am.’
‘You mean like a therapist… really?’
‘I just mean you need to offload all this guilt and sadness that you have bouncing around inside of you. It’s no good for man or beast. You have to learn to smile again.’
‘I just did.’
She groans. ‘Uh, not that half-hearted weak smirk you just showed me. I mean properly smile, belly laugh, enjoy life.’
I finish the wine in my glass before I put it down, then rub both hands over my face. ‘Adele, how can you say that to me? I told you I almost left a man to die and you’re telling me to go out and belly laugh.’
‘Almost.’
‘What?’ My head is pounding.
‘You almost left him, Abi, but you didn’t, and that’s the point. You are a good woman. Yes, you told one hell of a lie but that was over twenty years ago. You have to forgive yourself. How can you expect Rose to forgive you if you can’t? You’re not evil. The lie you told was out of love for your daughter; you thought it was best if she didn’t know. You planned to tell her the truth much sooner, and it all just ran away with you. That’s the thing about lies – it’s so easy to start believing them yourself. These things happen. In the end, you told the truth, despite it meaning the worst for you, and you chose to save Patrick’s life. There’s nothing evil about you.’
I exhale deeply. ‘Wow, Adele, fancy a new job as that therapist you were talking about?’
She giggles and I grin widely. No, not a belly laugh, but the smile is genuine, so that’s a start.
‘Okay, I hear what you’re saying, I really do. There’s no way I’m ready for dating. No, no, I’m really not. But I will get some help. You’re right, I need to talk to someone. A counsellor, or therapist, or… someone. That will help, right? Maybe Rose could do the same. We wouldn’t have to do it together. It would help her too. With what she’s been through…’ I reach for my phone, which has sat silent on the coffee table for hours.
‘What, now?’ Adele asks. ‘You have the number for a therapist on speed dial?’
‘Don’t be daft. I’m going to send Rose a text. And don’t tell me to give her space. I am – well, I will – but I’m just going to send this last message first.’
Adele doesn’t stop me. Perhaps it’s the determined look I know I must have in my eyes. Rose might have given up on me, but I won’t give up on her; she’s my daughter. I’ll invite her round, tell her my idea about us both seeing a counsellor and she’ll see. She’ll see that I’m seriously sorry for what I did. The lie I told has meant some awful things have happened to her… to Dylan and Patrick too. I acknowledge that, but I won’t let this tragedy define me. I’m not an evil person. Adele is right, it was a lie born out of love for my daughter, and it’s a lie I’ll put right with that same love for her.
No matter how long it takes, no matter how many times I have to say sorry and no matter how many times I have to retell the truth, I’ll make sure it’s not only strangers I’m saving. I’ll make sure that no more lives are destroyed because of the lie I told.
Epilogue
One month later
It takes every ounce of strength in me to stand up and walk towards the altar. As I pass the dark oak coffin on my way to the podium that the priest has just vacated for me, my entire body shivers. I hope no one behind me noticed. The church is packed, unsurprisingly.
After everything that has happened in the last five weeks or so, this is the last place I want to be. Well, obviously no one ever wants to attend a funeral – but my overwhelming desire not to be here is magnified by all the lies and cheating and… and all the hate that’s been spread around. Most days I just want to lock myself away and cry. However, my counsellor said that my being here was instrumental in my recovery. In order for me to move forward, I need to say goodbye to my mother. I need some closure.
If only she knew the truth.
Another chapter in my life is being built on the foundation of a terrible lie.
‘My mum is… was… an amazing woman,’ I spurt out as soon as my mouth reaches the microphone; my voice echoes around the high beamed ceiling, unnerving me, and everyone’s eyes are on me. I search for a familiar face to calm me and, when I find it, I continue. ‘Throughout her life she helped many different people in many different ways, so I’m not surprised at all that so many of you are here today.’
The babble endures, but I hardly recognise my own voice. I’m just reading from the piece of paper that I wrote my notes on last night. There’s nothing too personal; not about me anyway. I don’t think I could write anything about me, about what I’ve done and who I eventually grew up to be. And if I can’t say anything truthful about myself, I would rather say nothing at all. That’s my new motto, after everything that’s happened.
It’s a lovely service. Most people say that, don’t they? Why wouldn’t someone’s final farewell be lovely and peaceful? No one really understands the circumstances behind my mother’s death, so there’s no need for suspicion and whispers at this funeral.
It was lovely of the care home to assist my grandmother today. It wouldn’t have been the same if she wasn’t here; in fact, I think she’s the real reason that I came. As I push her wheelchair away from the grave, and the fresh mound of earth that will soon bury my mother in the ground forever, I look back and scan all the flowers: the roses and lilies and bouquets from her colleagues. I never knew so many people cared about my mother. Neither did she actually. I was all she had in this world. That’s what she thought, so it’s a shame she lied to me my entire life. It’s her fault.
This is all her fault.
For as much as it has pleased Almighty God – the priest’s words play again my mind – to take out of this world the soul of Abigail Nora Quinn, we therefore commit her body to the ground. Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
I can’t remember what he said after that. I was too focused on ensuring the coffin – and her lying body – was sent down into that deep, muddy hole where she belongs.
You probably think I’m the evil one, don�
��t you? Would it matter if I promised that it hadn’t been my intention to kill her? I loved my mother – yes, past tense and not because she’s dead – but Jesus Christ was she overbearing and suffocating. Then, when I found out I had been raped by my father because of her, something inside me snapped.
Receiving that final text message from her was the last straw. I knew then that she would never leave me alone. Every time I saw her face, heard her voice, even read a message from her, I was transported back to that office, back to when Patrick forced my clothes away from my body, back to when Patrick – to when my father – touched me, despite me begging him to stop. When she first told me the truth, I was sickened. That feeling soon passed. The days following my mother’s confession, I felt anger and hatred, resentment and fury, and, strangely enough, it wasn’t aimed at Patrick – though what he had done to me was scandalous no matter who I was – but all the wrath that bubbled up inside me was at her. My mother, the liar.
I did go round to see her that night, like she asked me to in her text message, with nothing in my mind other than to tell her to leave me the fuck alone. To explain that seeing her and speaking to her brought the nightmares back. But then, something happened.
We started arguing. Mum and I never shouted at one another. I had never needed to; that woman did whatever I asked her to and gave me whatever I wanted. But she was mad too – mad at herself for lying, mad at being found out, mad at not being able to control the situation.
She was screaming like a fucking banshee that I didn’t understand how hard it was for her to imagine what the love of her life, my father, had done to me. In that moment, the rubber band inside me, holding all my emotions together, snapped. I broke. I shattered like glass.
How dare she say that to me. To me, the woman who suffered because of her lie.