‘But I have seen it.’ McLoughlin’s mouth was dry. He tried to lick his lips but he had no saliva. ‘And I saw what it did to Mark Porter. I saw him after he died. I saw what humiliation can do. Why hurt Mark so much, Helena? Why punish him?’
‘Oh,’ she shook her head, ‘collateral damage – isn’t that what they call it? How were we to know that he wouldn’t be able to perform? He’d always been able to do it before. And what was important was that Marina would know Mark’s interest in her meant that Dominic was done with her. That was the way it worked. Mark got the leftovers.’ Helena giggled. The dog lifted its head and watched her.
‘But what was it all for, Helena? What was Dominic going to do next?’ Keep her talking, keep her attention focused. Anything to stop her leaving and taking the girl with her.
‘Oh that was going to be the best bit. He had decided he was going to see Sally Spencer the day after the party. He was going to tell her what her daughter had done. It was going to be the greatest fun. But then,’ she looked away, ‘when he discovered what I had done he decided – well, he decided—’ She stopped. She stroked Vanessa’s cheek. The girl shook convulsively. ‘He decided . . .’
‘Tell me,’ Dominic says, ‘that when you found Marina, she was already dead. Tell me you didn’t touch her. You didn’t hurt her in any way. Tell me, Mother.’
‘Well,’ Helena shrugs, ‘she was nearly dead. Her head was trailing in the water. I tried to pull her to the shore but she was too heavy for me. She fell into the lake. There was nothing I could do. Nothing, honestly, nothing I could do.’ She begins to panic. ‘Please don’t tell anyone. Don’t tell the police. They’ll send me back to the hospital. Please, Dominic, I’m begging you. I’ll die if that happens. I’ll die.’
And he puts his arms around her and holds her to him. He kisses her hair. He smells her perfume. ‘Don’t worry, Mother, don’t worry.’ And he closes his eyes and holds her body close to his. And she rocks from side to side. Together they rock from side to side.
And McLoughlin had unlocked his phone. He began to press the buttons. Randomly, frantically. Suddenly the phone rang.
Helena leaned forward. She grabbed his hand from his pocket. ‘Give that to me!’ she shouted.
He tried to push her away but the phone spun from his grasp. Helena kicked it out of his reach. And the dog was on him. Snapping at his wrist, catching his hand between his jaws. Pain shooting up his arm. He screamed, a high-pitched, pathetic sound. And Helena kicked the phone again. Into the water. She turned quickly and pulled a mooring rope from a coil on the floor. The dog’s grip tightened on his hand. He couldn’t move. Helena shoved a loop of rope over his head and around his neck. She pulled his hand from the dog’s mouth. She twisted his arms behind his back and tied the rope through one of the iron rings on the wall. She pulled it tight. His throat closed. He coughed. He choked. He gasped for breath. Helena moved away. She grabbed Vanessa’s hair – the girl shrieked in agony. She dragged Vanessa to her feet and pushed her sideways so she fell into the boat. The dog barked. Helena beckoned and it jumped in beside the girl. Helena spread her legs wide. One on the boat, one on the walkway. The boat shuddered beneath her weight, then moved. Vanessa screamed. ‘Please!’ Her voice was frantic. ‘Please, help me!’
Helena jumped into the boat. Then she picked up the oars, slotted them into the rowlocks and began to row.
McLoughlin slumped against the wall. The rope was tight. He tried to swallow. His hand was badly torn. The rope dragged at the wound. He tried to shout, but his voice was caught in his throat. He kicked out with his legs and banged his feet on the decking. ‘Remember Mary,’ Margaret had said. ‘Remember Mary.’ He bowed his head. Then heard. Quick footsteps outside. He shouted again and the door to the boathouse opened.
A man stood in the entrance. He was holding a gun. ‘Where is she? Where are they?’ Dominic de Paor lifted the gun to shoulder height.
‘Your mother and half-sister are in the boat. Out on the lake.’ McLoughlin tried to pull himself up. ‘Help me. Get me out of here. Quick. Your mother’s going to drown her. The way she drowned Marina.’
De Paor stared at him. He lowered the gun. ‘She didn’t drown Marina. It was an accident. She tried to help her. She tried to get her on to the beach. She didn’t mean to do it.’ He wiped his hand across his face.
McLoughlin twisted his head frantically from side to side. ‘That’s not what she told me. And I believe her. You would believe her, too, if you’d seen her here with Vanessa. If you love your mother, you must stop her. You did this. You made this happen. It’s your fault. Do something.’
‘She doesn’t mean it. She’s not well.’ De Paor’s face was white.
‘Not well? Is that what you call it? She’s out of control. She’s dangerous. She needs proper help.’
‘I have helped her. I love her. I’ve looked after her – I’ve kept her from harm!’ De Paor was shouting now.
‘Kept her from harm? Are you as mad as she is? You haven’t kept her from harm. You’ve let her harm others. Let me go. Let me help you – let me help her.’
But de Paor wasn’t listening. He picked up the gun. ‘I am her help. Her help and her salvation. No one else can do anything for her. She can’t go back to that prison they call a hospital. I remember what it was like. The madness there. The smell. The indignity. The drugs. The ECT. They strapped her down. And afterwards – afterwards she was like a zombie. All sensation dead. And I promised her. Never again. I would never let anyone touch her again.’
Together they rock from side to side. He remembers when he was little and his head reached barely to her breast. The comfort, the love that flowed from her. He could hear her heart beating. Badoom, badoom, badoom, badoom. He closes his eyes and breathes her scent. He was warm, he was loved, he was happy. Now he holds her head against his shoulder. He strokes her hair, her dark, dark hair. He murmurs the song she used to sing to him: ‘Black, black, black is the colour of my true love’s hair’. He reaches down and takes her ear-lobe between his thumb and first finger. He rubs it gently. She sighs and he feels her body cleave to his. ‘Don’t worry, Mother, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone hurt you. I will never leave you. No one else matters to me the way you do. Ssh, ssh, don’t worry.’
He made for the door, then stopped. He turned and said, ‘My father didn’t care. He didn’t want to know. I promised her. I swore to her. I would never let her go back there. No matter what.’ He opened the door. He walked through and slammed it behind him.
Vanessa was cold. She was shivering. Her teeth chattered. She couldn’t control them. She wanted to be brave and strong. She wanted to fight back. But there was no fight left in her. Her head ached and one eye was swollen and half closed. Helena rowed the boat smoothly across the lake’s dark surface. The dog sat beside her. His paw rested on Helena’s thigh. Helena was singing. Vanessa knew the song. They had learned it one year in school. The choir had sung it at the end-of-term concert.
Black, black, black is the colour of my true love’s hair,
Her lips are like some roses fair,
She has the sweetest smile, the gentlest hands,
And I love the ground whereon she stands.
Helena’s voice was loud. She screamed out the words.
‘I love my love and well she knows
I love the ground whereon she goes,
I wish the day soon would come
When she and I will be as one.
‘Sing it, little bird, sing with me.’ She twisted her hands through Vanessa’s hair.
The hunter moves quickly and quietly through the trees. He is conscious of the obstacles he will meet. Dry sticks that might break with a loud snap. Uneven ground upon which he might stumble or fall. Low-hanging branches that might snag his hair or clothes. He sees everything. He stays upwind so his quarry will not smell him. He keeps his head and body low so he will not be betrayed by his silhouette against the skyline. He stops. He listens. He looks. He sees his prey. He cal
culates the distance. He slips a magazine into the barrel of the rifle. He pulls back the bolt. The first bullet slides into the chamber. He lifts the rifle to his shoulder. He closes one eye. He lines up the target in his sights. He squeezes the trigger. The bullet travels at three thousand feet per second. Three times the speed of sound. As it breaks the sound barrier the sonic boom crashes through the air. It ricochets from rock wall to rock wall. The target drops. He pulls back the bolt. The spent bullet spins from the chamber and the second slips into its place. He fires again. Again the sound crashes across the lake. The second target drops. He pulls back the bolt. The spent bullet spins out, the third bullet takes its place. He puts down the gun. He wipes his hands on his shirt. They are sweat-covered, slippery. He picks up the gun again.
Vanessa opened her mouth. But no words would come. And then, and then. A noise so loud she thought her ear-drums would burst. A crash that rolled around the lake. From rock face to rock face, from the trees across the water. And Helena dropped, slumped, the oars slipping from her hands. Her body collapsed in the boat. Almost immediately before Vanessa could draw another breath, another crash, as if the world was ending. And the dog’s body exploded. A fine spatter of blood coated her face. And she opened her mouth again and this time there was a voice. A scream that tore from her.
‘Help me, help me, help me! Please, help me!’
McLoughlin heard the sound too. The crack, then the echo. And almost immediately, the second shot. A deer hunter, he thought. Two shots in three seconds. He waited for the third. Three bullets in the magazine. There would be three shots.
Dominic looked through his sights. The boat was drifting. The oars hung uselessly in their rowlocks. The girl was screaming. He couldn’t see Helena or the dog. And now he could see nothing more. Tears filled his eyes. They blotted everything out. The lake, the boat, the girl, the dog, his mother. He picked up the gun. It would end now. All of it. He jammed the gun beneath his chin. For the third time he pulled the trigger.
THIRTY
Stay near to me and I’ll stay near to you.
McLoughlin couldn’t get the words out of his head. They kept on bouncing around in his memory. Near to me, near to you, near to me, near to you. He couldn’t think at first where he had heard them. Then he remembered. It was Marina’s favourite poem. Read at her funeral. McLoughlin sat at the computer, did a search, found it. He printed it off, read it out loud a couple of times, folded the page and slipped it into his pocket. Then he put on his jacket, picked up his car keys, and walked out into the evening sunshine.
McLoughlin had brought wine and flowers. He had parked his car outside the house. He waited. The minutes passed. He replayed the phone conversation in his head.
‘Michael, hi, it’s Margaret. How are you? How’s your hand? I hope it’s OK.’
He hadn’t known what to say. He had tried to speak but he couldn’t find the words.
‘I want to see you. There’s something I have to tell you. Do you think you could come and see me?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Sure, of course. When?’
She had asked him to come in the evening. He had put down the phone. Then picked it up again. Pressed the button to call her. Then disconnected. Quickly. He didn’t know what he would say.
He sat in the car and waited. It was still warm, although he could see it was raining out at sea. Smears of dark grey hung low on the horizon. And above him a thundercloud pushed its ice-cream peaks into the dark blue sky.
He watched the clock on the dashboard. She had asked him to come at eight o’clock. It was five to now. He was tired and his hand ached. The doctor in A and E had stitched it. Given him a shot of antibiotics. Written a prescription for painkillers. Asked him if he’d like some sleeping pills. McLoughlin had shaken his head.
‘Well,’ the doctor rested a hand on his shoulder, ‘if you’re sure. I know you had a pretty nasty experience. If you need help don’t hang about.’
A pretty nasty experience. That was one way of putting it.
He got out of the car. He opened the boot. He picked up the two bottles of wine wrapped in tissue paper, and the bunch of flowers. More delphiniums. He felt like a kid on a first date. Now he stood with the bouquet in his hand. He pushed open the gate. It squeaked loudly. He walked up the path and knocked on the front door. The catch had slipped and it swung open at his touch. He stepped into the hall. He went down the stairs into the kitchen. Margaret was sitting in the garden. She was reading a newspaper. He stood silently, holding his wine and his flowers, and he watched her. She looked different. Her hair was short and grey. But when she lifted her head and smiled the difference disappeared. Near to me, near to you, near to me, near to you.
He sat beside her on one of the old deckchairs. She poured him a glass of wine. ‘New Zealand?’ He bent his head to smell it.
‘Yes, it’s from Hawke’s Bay in the North Island. One of the best wine-growing areas. I’m amazed how much New Zealand wine you can buy here.’
‘It’s very popular. Of course, it’s easy to drink.’ This was awful. Worse than he had imagined. He wished he hadn’t come.
She put her glass on the table. ‘Michael,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘As I said on the phone, there’s something I have to tell you.’
He wanted to scrutinize her face. Relearn the topography of her features. Memorize for future reference the fine lines between her eyebrows and around her mouth. The slight slackness of skin beneath her chin and over her collar-bone. The web of small wrinkles on the backs of her hands. He wanted to lean close and soak in the scent from her body. He picked up his glass. ‘What about?’
There was silence. Then she said, ‘About Jimmy Fitzsimons. About how he died.’
It was hard to believe. After so many years she was sitting beside him in the evening sunshine.
‘You see . . . You see, what happened was, I couldn’t leave it like that. Justice had to be done and seen to be done. So . . .’
What was the best way to punish him? I had to make him suffer. The punishment had to fit the crime. Jimmy killed Mary. He tortured her. He humiliated her. He kept her prisoner. Then he killed her. So that was the first imperative. I wanted him to die where Mary died. It wasn’t so difficult to get him to the cottage because he wanted me. And when we get out of the car and even though it’s dark I can see that he is smiling. He unlocks the door to the house and he stands back for me to walk through. Such a polite gesture. Standing back to let the lady enter. And I have help to knock him unconscious.
‘. . . I wasn’t alone. Someone helped me. The man who was Mary’s father.’
‘It’s OK,’ McLoughlin said. ‘You don’t need to . . .’
‘But I do, I do. I want you to know. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.’
Patrick helps me with everything. He even helped me with the trial. I wanted Jimmy to get off. Because the only punishment for him was death. Prison wouldn’t have been enough. He wouldn’t have paid for what he did. So Patrick helped me. And then he helps me again. Knocks Jimmy out and drags him into the shed where Mary died. The bloodstains are still visible on the wall. The marks of her suffering. I chain Jimmy to the ring set into the concrete, the way he chained my daughter. Then I wait for him to regain consciousness. Patrick finds the photographs he had taken of her. I want him to die looking at them. I want him to know that his suffering has a purpose.
‘Yes, the photographs.’ McLoughlin could see them. The images made his stomach convulse.
But he misjudges me. He thinks that I will let him go. That I am a kind, civilized person. A good person. That I just want to frighten him. But he’s got it wrong. I strap the tape across his mouth, and around the back of his head, around and around until only his pale blue eyes are visible. And then I tell him how he is going to die. First will come severe dehydration. Extreme thirst, dry mouth, thick saliva. He will become dizzy and faint. He will have cramps in his arms and legs as sodium and potassium concentrations
in his body increase and fluids decrease. He will want to cry but he will have no tears. His stomach will be racked with pain. He will be nauseous and he will dry-heave as his stomach and intestines dry out. His lips will crack and his tongue will swell. His hands and feet will become cold as the remaining fluids in the circulatory system are shunted to the vital organs in an attempt to keep him alive. He will stop urinating and suffer severe headaches as his brain shrinks. He will become anxious, then lethargic. His kidneys will cease functioning. Toxaemia will build up in his system. He will have hallucinations and seizures as his body chemistry becomes imbalanced. Eventually he will go into a coma. His blood pressure will become almost undetectable as major arrhythmia stops his heart.
‘I told him all this. Then I left him. Patrick hammered a piece of board across the window. The last sound he heard.’
I Saw You Page 30
