Now and Then

by Mary O'Sullivan

  “What’s the surprise, Dad?” Rob asked.

  “Guess.”

  “A puppy,” Josh said.

  “Him sleep in my bed!” Anna said, making sure she got to make the first claim.

  Ben shook his head. “No. Not a puppy. Mom and I explained that you must be able to look after a dog yourselves before we get one. You’re still a bit too young. Besides, no matter what age you are, the dog won’t be sleeping with anyone. He’ll have his own bed.”

  “I bet you’re going to say Della is coming here for Christmas.”

  Ben looked at Rob, at his solemn little face and mesmerising eyes.

  “Not that either, Rob. Don’t you remember she said she was going to America to see Uncle Hugh? Next year though, we will all be spending Christmas together.”

  “In America?”

  “We’ll see.”

  “That’s what you always say when you really mean no.”

  So! Rob was beginning to see life as it is, not as it should be.

  Ben smiled at him. “You’ll just have to wait and see, won’t you. Now, c’mon all of you. Get dressed quickly. It’s surprise time!”

  There was no having to tell them a second time. Leah had, as always, laid their clothes out at the bottom of their beds. Anna was almost as independent as Rob already, but Josh still had to have a lot of help. He held up his arms so that Ben could slip on his sweater. The upturned little face was so innocent, so trusting, so loving, that Ben’s breath caught in his throat. When the sweater was on, he held his son close. Josh was the cuddler. The one who needed to give and get affection. The one who needed most protection.

  Rob came into the room, his school uniform on.

  “Are we ready for the surprise now?” he asked.

  “Jenny must get surprise too,” Anna said, as she got her toy donkey, Jenny, her new best friend, from the bed where she had tucked it in last night.

  Ben looked at each of his children in turn. He had never felt as intense a love for them as he did at that minute. It was the purest of love, his for them, theirs for him. He demanded nothing more of them than that they be safe. They demanded nothing more of him than that he keep them safe.

  “Put on your coats. It’s cold where we’re going. Then follow me.”

  They did. Out through the kitchen, the hall, across the front garden, past the coal shed, until they reached the old shed. Ben stood at the door and put the key in the lock.

  “Ready?”

  There was a chorus of yeses. He was ready too. He turned the key, opened the door and flicked the switch for the Christmas lights.

  The children stood still for one moment, transfixed by the twinkling lights. Then they rushed inside, the twins to their trikes, Rob to his bike. Ben watched them, their faces glowing with happiness. It had been worth all the work last night.

  Rob suddenly stood still, a hand on the saddle of his bike, a frown on his forehead.

  “But it’s not Christmas yet,” he said.

  “Is so!” Anna said. “Santa bring this to me.”

  Yes, no doubt about it, Rob was well on his way to becoming someone who would search in vain for logic in an illogical world, order in the chaos of existence.

  “Rob is right,” Ben said. “Santa has not come yet. Uncle Hugh left these presents. See the Christmas stockings hanging up? There are more surprises in there. From Mom.”

  “Can I take my bike out? Cycle it a bit down the avenue.”

  “No, Rob. Not now. You can do that later. It’s very cold today. How about I make hot chocolate and marshmallows before we go to school.”

  “Yummy, yummy!” Anna and Josh rubbed their tummies, as they always did at the mention of hot chocolate.

  “I’ll go and make it and bring it out to you. Play with your things until I come back. And no fighting.”

  Ben closed the door of the old shed behind him as he left. He stood for a moment listening to the sound of his children’s laughter. Even Rob had shed his solemnity and joined in the happy chorus.

  It took Ben a while to organise the drinks. Milk was a bit scarce. There had been just about enough to make the three drinks. Between Leah’s hot milk habit and the twins’ cereals, they could well justify grazing a few cows in the back garden. Except there wasn’t a whole lot of grass out there. There wasn’t a whole lot of anything except bleakness.

  Feeling his anger rise, Ben deliberately channelled his thoughts towards his children. Nothing mattered now, but to get the hot chocolate out to them, hear their laughter again, see their smiles. Then they could get on with what the day held in store.

  Stocktake done, I sat and looked around the salon. Mags and Tina had run a tight ship. The place was sparkling. The appointment book full. It was just eight forty-five so I had time for a coffee. I got out my Stephen Pearce mug, noting that it was exactly where I had left it when I was last here. I was a bit paranoid about anyone else using it. Mam had bought it for me, shortly before she died. It was a connection to her I clung onto, even when I was not talking to her. I made my coffee and brought it into the salon. I glanced again at the appointment book and wondered how they had turned things around so quickly. It was ridiculous to think that every new customer came in here just to hear about Ben. All they had to do was go to Henderson’s pub, shop, garage, post office, to find out all the details, plus added extras. Whatever the reason, I was very grateful.

  They arrived together, Mags and Tina. Mags had a new energy about her. An air of authority. And Tina looked as graceful and unflappable as ever.

  “Welcome back!” they chorused.

  “How’s Ben?” Tina asked.

  “Thank you! Ben’s good. A bit to go to full recovery yet, but he’s on the right road.”

  They both hugged me. I felt tears well in my eyes as Mags enfolded me in the comfort of her embrace.

  “I’m so, so, grateful to you both. But tell me how in the name of goodness you managed to triple business in such a short period of time.”

  “Three things,” Mags said. “First there was Ben’s accident. That brought the curious here. Then there was Minnie Curran, terrified you would sue her for slander, telling anyone who would listen that Leah’s Salon was the best in the country. And then there was Tina!”

  I looked at Tina. She seemed uncomfortable. Reluctant to look me in the eye.

  “Go on, Tina,” Mags urged. “Tell her.”

  I heard Tina’s intake of breath. I began to worry.

  “I’m sorry, Leah. I know I should have asked permission but I didn’t want to disturb you.”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, child,” Mags said. “I’ll tell her. Tina set up Facebook and tweeter accounts for Leah’s Salon. That’s how we’re getting a young clientele in and also people from the catchment area. All thanks to Tina.”

  I was stunned. I hadn’t realised that cyber-reach would be so effective in the rural area. So much for urban/rural prejudice. I hadn’t even thought of setting up a personal Facebook account, let alone one for the business. I smiled at Tina.

  “Well! Tina, I don’t know what to say. Thank you so much. It must have taken you a lot of time. I really appreciate it.”

  “I enjoyed doing it, Leah. And I’m happy it brought in new custom. And Mags, I’ve told you loads of times, it’s Twitter account. You tweet on a Twitter account.”

  Mags shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever! It worked anyway.”

  I was just about to tell Tina that I would pay her for the extra work, when the first customer of the day arrived. Quickly followed by two more.

  There was an awkward moment when Mags and Tina looked to me for instructions.

  “You’re the manager, Mags. Manage. Tell me what you want me to do.”

  Mags didn’t need to be told twice. She was in her element organising customers and staff, chatting, meeting, greeting. There was little chance for me to think, but when I got a break I decided that I could afford to spend less time in the salon in future, and more time at home with my children. And
my sometimes childish husband.

  I rang Ben at elevenses break time. There was no ring. Phone turned off again or else he had forgotten to charge it.

  There were ten precious minutes when the salon was empty except for a blow-dry Mags was finishing off. Tina and I sat side by side at the little counter in the kitchenette.

  “I can’t thank you enough for the online work you did for the salon, Tina. There will be something extra in your pay this week.”

  “No need. It’s practice for me. I’ll be applying for computer science after my Leaving Cert. It’s what I want to do.”

  “Yes, there is a need to pay you for your work. My son is very interested in computers too. I think he’ll definitely make a career in some area of computer technology. Gosh! He’s only five. I’m definitely a pushy mother!”

  We were both laughing when Mags came in.

  “That woman just told me there’s something big going on in the area because Garda cars and a couple of ambulances passed her on the way here.”

  “Must be a car crash,” I said. “I hope it’s not too serious.”

  The salon phone rang. I told Mags to sit and have her lunch and I went to answer. It was Viv Henderson. Lady Paircmoor herself.

  “Is that you, Leah? It’s great that you’re back again. How is your husband?”

  “Good, thank you. What can I do for you, Viv?”

  “It was Mags I wanted to talk to.”

  “She’s having her break. Can I take a message?”

  Viv hesitated.

  “Just tell her the rescue helicopter is gone over towards Pouldubh Head. You know, that cliff on the headland just past the beach. That usually means trouble for some poor soul.”

  I had to bite my tongue. Viv wallowed in other people’s troubles. Just the suggestion was enough for her to start spreading the word.

  “I’ll tell Mags, Viv. I assume you have your usual Friday appointment. See you tomorrow.”

  I was just putting down the phone when I noticed a blue light flashing outside the salon. The door opened. Two uniformed gardaí stood there. One male, one female.

  “Mrs Parrish?” the woman asked. “Leah Parrish.”

  I found the strength to nod but not to stop the scream that sounded in my head.

  “Does your husband drive a black jeep? 04 D 54321Y?”

  My legs lost their strength. I reached behind me for a stool. Mags came to stand beside me. She put her arm around my shoulder. I felt strength flow from her to me.

  “Yes. That’s Ben’s jeep. Has there been an accident? Is he hurt? Are the children alright?”

  They exchanged looks. The man and the woman. He spoke this time.

  “A jeep of that description was seen going into the sea off the Pouldubh Headland. Emergency Services are on the way there now. Is there someone you would like to call to be with you? ”

  “My little boy Rob, is in school in Paircmoor. Is there someone with the twins?”

  I heard the garda take a breath. It quivered. He pursed his lips and I knew he was trying to be strong. To behave like he had been trained to do in tragic situations. I didn’t want him to answer. I wished the scream in my head was louder so that I could not hear his words.

  “We checked. Rob didn’t go in to school today.”

  Mags reached down and took my shaking hands in hers.

  “The twins,” I whispered.

  “They are with their father. So is Rob.”

  The salon began to spin, the mirrors and sinks dance around. The place went dark, just as the strong arms of the garda held on to me and prevented me from hitting the ground.

  I remember being led to the Garda car. Mags telling me she would look after the salon. Giving Hugh’s and Della’s numbers to the female garda sitting beside me. Asking her to make the calls. They wanted to take me to a Garda station, but I insisted on being taken to Pouldubh Head.

  A black wind howled around the headland, whipping the sea into peaks and troughs of angry tide. The jeep, they told me, was on the sea floor beneath the cliff. Under thirty feet of rolling, bitingly cold, North Atlantic. Five fathoms deep the Coast Guard said. But I still hoped. I had given life to my babies. I believed I could will them to live again.

  There were divers. And boats. Helicopters overhead. Doctors on standby. Squad cars. A priest muttering words of consolation I was not ready to accept. And everywhere, all over that bleak headland, blue lights flashed, vehicles came and went. I saw a camera with a zoom lens pointed in my direction as I sat in the squad car. People spoke in whispers around me. I ached. Every cell in my body yearned to hold my babies. To run my fingers through Anna’s curls, to watch Josh’s grin, to see Rob’s beautiful dark eyes. To hold them close to me and feel their warm breaths on my face, their soft skin next to mine. To tell them everything would be alright now that Mom was here. To feel Ben’s arms around me, telling me he was looking after the children. Keeping them safe.

  I saw Vera Sanquest, Walter by her side. She was talking to two gardaí. Pointing towards the headland. I jumped out of the squad car, the garda rushing after me.

  “Vera! Did you see them?”

  When she turned towards me, I saw that her face was ashen. She was crying.

  “I’m sorry, Leah. So sorry. I should have known.”

  Because I was in shock. Because everything I lived for was lying five fathoms deep. Because Vera was crying as she spoke, I did not immediately understand what she was saying. A garda, a gentle woman, repeated the words until I followed the sequence of events. Vera had been driving out onto the Paircmoor road when Ben and the children passed by in the jeep. She waved but got no acknowledgement that Ben had seen her. He seemed strange. Distracted. Focused only on driving, very fast, straight ahead towards Pouldubh Head. The glimpse she had of the children made her think they were asleep. She felt uneasy, so followed him. She arrived at Pouldubh Head in time to witness Ben accelerate as he drove the jeep over the cliff edge.

  “I’m sorry, Leah. If I had rung for help instead of following. If I had stopped him on the road. If . . .”

  Her words faded into the background of my consciousness as a pain gripped my belly. It ripped around my lower back. I bent forward, my breath stopped by the intensity of the cramp. I felt life seep from me. The foetus. The fourth baby. I was losing the only member of the family Ben had not murdered.

  “My baby!”

  “How far gone are you, Leah?” the garda asked.

  “Eleven weeks. Twelve. I don’t know.”

  She got on her radio straight away and called over one of the ambulances. I tried to stop them taking me away, but I was haemorrhaging and destroyed by grief. I was lifted into the ambulance and put on a drip. The siren sounded and the ambulance sped away from Pouldubh Head. Away from my babies.

  For the second time that day, I left my children without saying goodbye.

  NOW

  Two years later

  Sunday 9th December 2012

  “For the second time that day, I left my children without saying goodbye.”

  The words leave my mouth and are swallowed by silence in the County Kerry Community Hall. I am standing on the stage. Centre of attention. The object of pity. Here to tell our story. Mine and Ben’s, Rob’s, Anna’s and Josh’s. I am the only voice they have now. I secure the microphone back in the stand. My pain is raw. It still has a razor edge that tears me asunder.

  I look down from the stage at my audience. Someone sniffles. Maybe they have a cold, or maybe the sniffler is weeping out of sympathy. Or fear. Someone who has doubts. A person who can draw parallels from their own experience, who dreads that my tragedy could become theirs. That is the reason I stand here, in front of all these strangers, the images of my dead babies on the screen beside me. There is always that one sniffler.

  I hear some foot-shuffling and sense embarrassment in case I break down in floods of tears. Doubt about whether it is appropriate to clap or not. The usual discomfort around grief. I mean to take a deep breath. Form
a coherent sentence. Put people at ease. Instead my eyes are drawn to the screen. It shows a photograph Ben had taken of the children in the back garden with their Christmas tree. Anna, laughing, wearing her flowery raincoat and a Santa hat, Josh, making a funny face for the camera, Rob, arranging lights on the tree. Five short days before they died. Before they were murdered. Before Ben drove them to their deaths on Pouldubh Head. My throat tightens with emotional pain that is more agonising than any physical pain I have ever felt.

  The tap, tap of high heels tells me Cora Sheehan is making her way onto the stage. Cora organised this evening. She contacted me, invited me to tell my story in this community hall that is a clone of so many others I have visited. And now she is rescuing me from the silent agony that is robbing me of my voice.

  She stands beside me at the podium and leans towards the microphone.

  “Ladies and Gentlemen, thank you for your attention during Leah’s telling of her harrowing story. I’m sure you appreciate how difficult it must have been for her. And how very brave.”

  There is tentative applause, which grows in volume until the hall echoes with the sound of peoples’ support. Part of the enthusiasm is a release of tension. A sliver of normality in the twisted world of familicide. A word far too small to encompass the depth of horror of the crime.

  Cora covers the microphone with her hand and turns to me.

  “Are you alright to go ahead with questions, Leah, or do you want to wind up now?”

  How many times in the past two years had I longed to give up? To stop the pain by drawing the comfort of nothingness around me. But I was blessed, or cursed, with my mother’s chin-up, keep-going genes. I nod to Cora and she angles the microphone towards me.

  “Thank you for being so attentive, Ladies and Gentlemen. My story is difficult to tell, and also, I realise, difficult to hear. I’ll take a few questions. If there is anything you want to ask, just raise your hand.”

  I waited a moment. It always takes that beat of time for a brave soul to be the first to raise a hand. It is usually someone mid-thirties, female, confident. Often that person is a reporter from a local paper, or increasingly, an online journalist. I see a hand being raised towards the front. She fits the profile of questioner number one.