The Secrets of Primrose Square

by Claudia Carroll

‘How can you even think that, never mind say it?’ he groaned, smacking his hand off his forehead in frustration. ‘My da will be turning in his grave at this!’

  ‘He won’t, as it happens,’ said Jayne, glancing fondly towards the jar of his ashes. ‘Your dad always wanted me to be happy. Even on his deathbed he told me that I was still young and that my job was to live life for the two of us from that day on. So that’s what I’m doing, plain and simple. I’m living life to the full for the two of us.’

  ‘Ahh here, you’re off your bleeding bikkies, you are,’ Jason grumbled, shaking his head. ‘For feck’s sake, you still talk to a jar of Da’s ashes! It’s a psychiatrist you should be seeing, not some arsehole you picked up online!’

  ‘Jason, you really need to cool down here,’ his mother replied evenly. ‘Now either you and I can talk about this like reasonable adults, or else I suggest you leave and come back when you’ve centred your chakras a bit.’

  ‘Centred me what?’

  ‘Your chakras, love. You know, energy centres through the whole body. Eric says apparently it’s very important to keep them in alignment and yours are all out of kilter now.’

  ‘Ma, can you hear yourself? You’re talking complete shite! Chakras? What the fuck?’

  ‘Jason,’ she replied, a bit more sternly. ‘I won’t remind you again about the language. Not in front of your father.’

  ‘Just listen to me, Ma, will you?’ he pleaded, as his mother went back to pounding away at the bread mix. ‘Me and Irene are the only family you have, and it’s up to us to protect you from all these scam artists and chancers that your meet online. We’re both worried sick about you. Irene’s in bits and I hardly slept a wink last night.’

  That much was true, although there was a whole other reason why Jason had a sleepless night. He knew that more demanding letters from a payday loan crowd he’d fallen foul of would arrive by post, and he was terrified Irene would get to them before he did. In the end, he’d got up at 6:30 a.m. to intercept the postman, but even at that, Irene had started asking all sorts of questions.

  ‘You never get up early,’ she’d said to him beadily that morning. ‘What’s going on?’

  Jason had pleaded insomnia, feeling the final demand hidden in his pocket almost burn through his trousers as he lied to her face, telling her he just couldn’t sleep so he got up and pottered around the house instead. Jesus Christ, he thought. When would this nightmare end? How much longer could he keep what was going on a secret?

  ‘Eric isn’t a scam artist at all,’ said Jayne, sprinkling rock salt on the bread mix before carefully covering it with a tea towel, so the yeast could do its thing. ‘You have to trust me. He really is a dote and if you’d only give him half a chance—’

  ‘Oh, you needn’t tell me about your new boyfriend,’ said Jason with a sneer. ‘Irene was up half the night googling this Eric bloke – we know all about him and his meditation retreat centre in the back arse of bleeding Florida.’

  ‘He’s a practising Dharma Buddhist and a very old soul, I think,’ said Jayne, with a little smile. ‘Although Eric makes me laugh, he firmly believes he and I knew each other in a past life. That we were slaves together in Ancient Roman times, can you believe it? Me? In Italy? And I don’t even like pasta.’

  ‘Ma!’ said Jason, clamping his hands down over his ears, as if this conversation were physically hurting him. ‘Will you stop?’

  ‘Oh, but it is happening, love,’ she replied softly. ‘And the sooner you accept that, the better it’ll be for all of us. I’ve been very lonely since your dad passed away, you know, and Eric has put the smile back on my face again.’

  ‘But sure how can you be lonely when you’ve me and Irene? And the twins too? Your own granddaughters?’

  Jayne looked at her son squarely in the eye.

  How can I be lonely, you ask? Because I never really see you, unless you want something. You drop over here for about an hour once a week, and other than that, the only time I hear from you or Irene is if you need an unpaid babysitter. That’s why I’m lonely. In fact, if it weren’t for the good neighbours I have . . . there have been times when I honestly didn’t know what I’d do.

  She remembered fondly how Eric’s profile had first caught her eye all those months ago. Because he hadn’t written out all his hobbies, likes and dislikes, the way every other man seemed to. Instead, Eric had written the most beautiful poem for his late wife, Claire. And it was so heartfelt, it almost made Jayne want to cry.

  After a time, I surprised myself with a smile

  After a time, I found I could talk about you without tears

  After a time, I could go a whole hour without you at the front of my mind

  After the longest time, I’m beginning to heal

  I’ll never forget you, my love, and I’ll always keep my promise to you

  After a time, I’ll learn to live life for both of us

  Jayne had got teary reading it, it resonated with her so deeply. It was just exactly what Tom had said to her, before he went off to his big urn above the telly. So she got in touch with Eric to tell him how beautiful she’d thought his poem was. Turned out they’d both lost their spouses in the same year – another thing that really bonded them. Eric chatted to her all about the Healing House in Florida that he’d set up, and they’d spent hours talking late into the night about their ‘journey through grief’, and coming out on the other side.

  And Jayne knew. Even though he was a total stranger from a whole different culture, in a whole other part of the world, she knew a good man when she found one. Just like when she’d first met Tom, all those decades ago.

  She was spared from having to tell Jason any of this as, just then, her mobile started ringing. She could hear it getting louder and louder, so she fumbled around all her usual places looking for it, while Jason kept ranting on and on.

  ‘Irene hit the nail on the head last night,’ he was saying. ‘She says it’s up to us to protect you and to make sure that no money-grabbing chancer out to make a quick buck comes within six feet of you.’

  ‘Ahh now, pet,’ Jayne said. ‘Of course I understand this has been a bit of a shock to you both, but in time you’ll come around. Now, help me look for my phone, will you, love?’

  ‘Oh, you’ll think I’ll come around, do you?’ said Jason, pointedly ignoring the ringing noise.

  ‘All I ask is that you keep an open mind till you meet Eric, that’s all,’ Jayne went on, rummaging around in her handbag, trying to trace the sound of the phone. ‘He’s flying in on Friday. We’d love it if you and Irene could join us for dinner. When you both calm down a bit, maybe you’ll consider it?’

  ‘I’d rather starve to death then eat with your scam artist new boyfriend,’ he said proudly, to a frustrated ‘tsk!’ from Jayne as she finally located the phone, which had fallen deep behind a sofa cushion.

  ‘Mrs Jayne Dawson?’ came an unfamiliar voice as soon as she answered.

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good afternoon. This is the secretary from Kingsbay Secondary School speaking. Forgive my calling you, but you were on the contact sheet Mrs Susan Hayes provided the school with.’

  ‘Is everything all right?’ Jayne asked, as a cold clutch of panic instantly gripped at her heart.

  Kingsbay was where Melissa Hayes went to school. Why were the school ringing her? They never rang; sure why would they? Then she remembered meeting Susan out on the square earlier and how strangely she’d been acting. Like the poor woman was on something.

  ‘Is it Melissa . . . or is it Susan? Is she okay?’ Jayne asked, dreading the answer.

  ‘Mrs Hayes is meeting with our headmistress just now,’ said the secretary in a clipped, enunciated voice. ‘You’re Melissa’s nominated adult, we understand. I really am sorry to alarm you, but I’m afraid it’s best if you come straight to the school so we can explain everything. As soon as you possibly can, please.’

  Susan

  ST MICHAEL’S WELLNESS CENTRE


  ‘Now, Susan, you do know why you’re here, don’t you?’

  Susan nodded, knowing it was less hassle all around to just play along and have done with it.

  ‘So is there anything you’d like to talk to me about?’

  Oh yeah, because it’s that easy, isn’t it? Susan thought, moving her head slowly around to face the considerably younger woman perched on the edge of a leather armchair opposite, notebook and pen poised in her thin, bony hands.

  You think all I need do is lie here on your comfy, expensive-looking therapist’s couch, open up my heart to you and that the pain will just magically go away? You really think you’re that qualified? You think anyone on this planet could possibly make sense of all this?

  ‘Susan?’ her therapist gently prompted, a reminder that they were up against a ticking clock. ‘I’m here and I’m listening.’

  Dr Kennedy was this one’s official title, but her first words had been, ‘Call me Ciara.’ She was one of those.

  Silence from Susan as she lay back against the plush, cushioned sofa, resolutely saying nothing, just playing for time.

  ‘Tell you what,’ said call-me-Ciara, ‘to get the ball rolling, why don’t I fill you in on what your treatment here will involve?’

  ‘Whatever,’ Susan muttered.

  ‘You’ll be with us here at St Michael’s for a minimum of four weeks, depending on your progress. Treatment here involves good food, lots of exercise, group therapy and, it goes without saying, no stimulants whatsoever. Our goal is to reduce your dependency on sedatives over time, but we do offer patients a low dosage of sleeping pills, at least till your body starts to readjust.’

  ‘Pills,’ Susan echoed dully. That word at least caught her attention. ‘Well, that’s something, I suppose.’

  ‘I also encourage patients to write a journal,’ Dr Ciara went on, ‘as you’ll find it can be a useful barometer to track your progress over time.’

  ‘If you say so.’

  ‘So how about we start with what happened yesterday at your daughter’s school?’ Dr Ciara said, clicking the pen in her hand. ‘Would you like to tell me about it, in your own words?’

  Just at the thought, Susan shuddered. No, she would most definitely not care to open up her heart to this total stranger, who looked late-twenties tops and far too ridiculously glamorous to ever be taken seriously as a head shrink. The woman was wearing leopard-print kitten heels, for feck’s sake.

  Besides, there was nothing to tell, really. All she’d done was react in the moment – that was all there was to it. Surely anyone who knew where she was coming from would understand? Even Andrea Johnson, the headmistress, had been at pains to stress to her yesterday, ‘how much we all feel for what you’re going through’.

  ‘Susan?’’ call-me-Ciara persisted. ‘I’m here and I’m listening. Remember that this is a non-judgmental environment. A safe place for you to talk.’

  More uncooperative silence as the minutes ticked down. Fuck it, I better come out with something, Susan thought. If not, I’ll look like I’m not cooperating and then I’ll end up in even more trouble.

  ‘Well . . . ’ she said tentatively, taking great care to pick her words.

  ‘Yes?’ Dr Ciara said, pen twitching in her hand.

  ‘I was waiting to collect Melissa from school – just sitting in the car, minding my own business, really.’

  ‘Melissa. That’s your younger daughter, right?’

  Younger daughter, Susan thought, slumping her head wearily back against the soft cushions behind her. Like there was any need to distinguish between the two of them any more. Melissa was now her only child and that was the end of it.

  ‘Melissa is my little girl, yes.’

  ‘And I’m guessing that’s when you spotted Josh Andrews?’

  ‘That’s right.’ Susan nodded, as calmly as she could. ‘He was out on the school pitch, training for a match. He plays for the school Senior Cup team.’

  Looking every bit as smug and self-satisfied as ever, she’d wanted to add, but somehow managed to keep her mouth zipped. The mental image of that monster was still there, though – with his toothy grin, Kennedy-thick hair and even thicker neck, doing lunges and squats at the side of the pitch without a care in the world. Blithely messing about and laughing, actually having the barefaced cheek to laugh with his mates as the team warmed up.

  It was all his larky high-spirits that had sent Susan over the edge. That someone like Josh Andrews could actually blank out the agonising pain that he’d caused all around him, then act like nothing had happened.

  But that fucker had ruined four lives. Hers, Frank’s, Melissa’s and, of course, Ella’s. Four human souls who’d never be the same again, all thanks to that hulking bully-boy, high-fiving his mates on the pitch as they all lined up to do squat thrusts. Looking at Josh Andrews yesterday, it was as if he’d drawn a neat line under Ella Hayes and her family, and was now moving on with his own life like nothing had happened. Like he had absolutely nothing to reproach himself for.

  But something did happen, didn’t it, Josh? You can act like you’re blameless all you like, but you and I both know the truth, don’t we?

  Susan’s breathing started to become short and shallow, and she began to claw at the woolly jumper she was wearing, suddenly boiling hot in that stifling little therapy room. Josh had got exactly what was coming to him yesterday, she thought, quietly getting more and more furious. And if there were even a gram of justice in this world, he’d have gotten far worse. He could act as blameless and innocent as he liked, but certainly not when she was around. She’d never forget what happened, and if it took her the rest of her life, she’d make bloody sure that Josh Andrews never forgot either.

  ‘I reacted exactly the way any other parent would,’ Susan blurted out. Dr Ciara was listening intently to every word. ‘No one with a gram of compassion could possibly blame me for what I said or did.’

  And no court in the land would convict me if they knew my side of the story.

  Josh Andrews rightly belonged behind bars, so he couldn’t put any other family through what he’d put Susan and her family through. So if this frankly useless therapist were to ask her how she felt, the answer, in a nutshell, was vindicated. She felt no regret, just a bitter satisfaction that she’d done what she did. God knows, it was little enough, late enough, but at least it was something.

  She’d physically hurt Josh, she’d caused him pain, and it frightened her just how good that had felt. She’d been on fire when she assaulted him, a slender little woman like her taking on a strapping six-footer, but somehow that didn’t matter. All that mattered was that she’d clawed back some sort of revenge for what he’d done, and Jesus Christ, she thought, that had made her feel euphoric.

  ‘You know I’m here to help you work through this,’ Dr Ciara said after a long and thoughtful pause. ‘So how about you tell me exactly what happened?’

  Susan twitched around uncomfortably on the sofa as snippets of conversation from the previous day came back to her. ‘Verbal abuse,’ was what the Garda from community relations had kept saying to her. He’d been a nice enough guy, although he looked about fourteen as far as Susan was concerned, with the pimples to go with it.

  ‘You slandered and then physically assaulted Josh Andrews in a public place, Mrs Hayes. His parents feel they’ve been incredibly understanding, what with everything you’ve been going through, however I do have to caution you that there’s a limit to their patience. As of now, I can tell you that the Andrews family have a right to sue you for assault causing harm under the 1997 Non-Fatal Offences Against the Person Act.’

  ‘There’s a whole other side to this story, you know,’ Susan had snapped back at him in the windowless, airless Garda interview room that she’d been made to sit in for hours. ‘You are aware that my daughter is cold in her grave?’ she kept repeating. ‘And that Josh Andrews might as well have put her in there with his own two hands?’

  ‘Please understand, Mrs
Hayes, that Josh Andrews has not been convicted of any wrongdoing. His family are naturally very upset by what’s happened. They’re considering their legal options just now and if they do proceed, court charges could follow. If found guilty, the penalty for assault is up to twelve months in prison.’

  At that, Susan laughed bitterly. The very thought that Josh Andrews and his family could end up taking her to court beggared belief. For fuck’s sake, what kind of an upside-down world was she living in?

  ‘Good,’ she replied, folding her arms. ‘Let them.’

  ‘And I’m afraid there’s more, isn’t there, Mrs Hayes?’ the teenage guard had said, referring to a thickly stuffed folder on the desk beside him. ‘I have reports on my desk claiming that you’ve been standing outside the Andrews’ house for hours at a time on more than one occasion. Several times a week, in fact. For months now, it seems.’

  ‘And so what if I did?’ Susan had slurred back at him defensively, the Xanax she’d taken earlier still clouding up her system. ‘There’s no law against that, is there?’

  ‘You do realise that too could be construed as threatening behaviour?’

  ‘Oh, so now it’s against the law to stand on a public pavement, is it? The prisons must be stuffed full to capacity, if that’s the case.’

  ‘No,’ came the measured reply. ‘But the Andrews family maintain that your behaviour has been intimidating and hostile ever since the inquest, almost a year ago. And now you’ve assaulted their son, which only makes matters worse.’

  ‘Excuse me,’ Susan interrupted, ‘are you seriously saying that someone like Josh Andrews is accusing me of being hostile? After what he’s put my family through? Can I remind you that waster gets to sleep peacefully at night with his whole life ahead of him? His Leaving Cert, his college years, a career, a family and then the rest of his life beyond that, the works. My daughter doesn’t. Ella is gone and she’s never coming back. Don’t you understand?’

  ‘Of course we understand, Mrs Hayes, and here at Community Relations we’re only trying to help you to help yourself. The problem is that incidents such as yesterday aren’t helping anyone, are they? We have a full account here from several eyewitnesses claiming you had to be dragged away from Josh, quite literally kicking and screaming. You’ve almost broken his nose, you clawed at his face and, by all accounts, you even drew blood. The Andrews family feel they’ve tolerated your behavior up until now, but enough is enough.’