by Andrea Mara
Sam’s eyes open. “Is that what this is about, Michael? Is it because I was there when Bella took those pills?”
Michael shakes his head. “Oh Sam, you just don’t get it, do you? It’ll be a good story when I’ve more time. Now, I need to head out and get us some benzos for Saturday – you’ll need a good long sleep when I’m in Galway and this stuff won’t cut it.” He holds up a syringe. “Do you need to go to the toilet before I leave?”
Sam shakes his head.
“Gimme your arm so – you can catch some sleep while I’m out. Jesus, I’m wrecked today, I’d nearly swap places with you.” He ties the tourniquet and pushes the liquid into Sam’s tired vein, and sleep takes over before Michael has walked out of the room.
Chapter 61
1996
She’s snoring lightly when he lets himself into the dark bedroom, but wakes up as soon as the door closes behind him.
“Michael, is that you? You gave me a fright,” she whispers, peering through the darkness.
“It is, Ma, sorry to give you a scare.” He pulls a chair up beside the bed.
“What are you doing here – I thought you had to go down to Kilkenny for work? Is Sam still here?”
“He is, Ma, he’s asleep in my room. I was just in with him.” Michael sits back on the chair and folds his arms. “Ma, it’s time we had a talk. About my da.”
Bella sits up in the bed. Her eyes are wary now. “What do you mean?”
“He’s not dead, is he?”
“Of course he’s dead. Died in a car crash back when you were a baby – you know that story like the back of your hand.”
“I do indeed. Because you’ve been telling it to me over and over since before I could talk. Did you think nobody would ever tell me the truth?”
She looks down at the blanket on her lap. “I thought I was doing the right thing,” she whispers.
“Have you any idea what it was like to go into that school and be told that my da wasn’t dead – that he was in the nick? Do you know how much joy those lads got out of being the ones to tell me that? Did you ever see the bruises – the sly digs, the trips in the yard, the punch-ups after school?”
Bella shakes her head and her eyes fill with tears. “I didn’t know. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It was too late by then – the damage was done. Anyway, what would you have done? Your track record’s not exactly great, is it? Husband in prison, no money, this crappy flat, a shit school, no holidays, nothing. What exactly would you have done to stop me being beaten up in school? Taken me out and sent me to a private school like Sam’s? I didn’t think so. So don’t come at me now saying I should have told you.”
Bella pushes herself back in the bed. “I did my best – you were always well-fed and warm and loved. Why are you saying all this now?”
“Because I’m done. I’m done looking after you, and I need this flat. And, as you no doubt know, da’s next parole hearing is coming up in a few months. I don’t think they’ll let him out, but you never know. And I don’t want him getting ideas about hooking back up with you and getting his feet under the table. Under my table, in my flat. Basically, I need you out of the picture before he’s back in it. I have the tenancy application ready to go to the council, so it’s time. It’s time to go, Ma.”
“Go where? Michael, you don’t mean it – you can’t expect me to leave? What has got into you?” She’s still whispering but her voice is shaking now.
“It’s time. You don’t do anything anyway other than shuffle around here and walk out to the shop every few days and Mass on Sunday. You don’t see anyone except me and Sam. You’ll hardly miss it. Now, Sam is asleep in the other room – and I’ve locked the door. So there’s two ways we can do it. You can take the pills you love so much, or we can go with this.” He holds up a syringe. “The drug option means burning down the flat too, and Sam with it. It’s not my preference – I’d rather keep the flat. So will we go for the pills, Ma?”
Bella’s eyes are wide. She pushes herself back further again in the bed and tries to speak. “Michael, what are you talking about? And what have you done to Sam?”
“Oh, precious Sam – he’s fine, Ma, he’s just asleep, and if all goes well I’ll unlock the door when I’m leaving, and he’ll find you in the morning. It’s much easier this way. You just write a little note, and take the pills. You’ve been heading that direction for a while now – nobody will be too shocked. All that talk of things moving around at night? You’re halfway to La-La-land as it is.” He picks up a pill bottle from her locker, and empties the contents into his hand.
Bella is crying now. “Michael, you can’t mean it! Have you gone mad?”
“No, Ma, not mad, just moving things along. You get to go to that God you pray to every Sunday, Sam doesn’t die in a fire, and I get the flat. Win-win, see?” He picks up the next pill bottle and reads the label. “Jesus, Ma, strong stuff. Do you really take all of these every day? I’m surprised you haven’t slipped away already.”
She reaches her hands towards him, tears streaming down her face. “Michael, love, you don’t mean any of it – come here to me!”
He gently pushes her arms back down. “No, Ma, it’s too late now. Let’s just get on with this, will we? I think ten of these and ten of the other ones will do it – you won’t even feel any pain.”
“I won’t do it,” she says, moving towards the edge of the bed. “I’m going to wake Sam and we’re going. You can have the flat.”
Michael stands up and holds up the syringe. He puts a hand on her chest and pushes her back down onto the pillow. “No, one way or another, this is it. If I have to inject this into you, I will. But then nobody will believe it was suicide, and I’ll have to burn down the flat and everything in it. Including Sam. If you take the pills, nothing happens to him.” He leans close to her. “Do you understand?”
Bella is still crying, but silently now. He takes a notebook and pen from her dresser and passes them to her, but her hand is shaking too much, and she can hardly write. She looks up at him, pleading with her eyes. He nods and takes away the notepad. He sits beside her, and passes three of the pills into her hand, then gives her a glass of water. She closes her eyes and swallows the pills. He passes three more, and she does the same. After fifteen tablets, her breathing slows. He nudges her gently awake to take the next batch. Her eyes flutter open, then close again. She starts to lose consciousness, and he takes her hand. He sits there until her breathing stops. He kisses her forehead, then puts one of the two pill bottles into her hand and walks out of the bedroom. He unlocks the other door and checks on Sam – he’s still asleep.
Michael closes the front door softly behind him, and as he walks back down towards the lift he whistles quietly to himself.
Chapter 62
Sam - Wednesday, August 3rd 2016
Sam is hunched over the laptop when he hears the familiar ping of his mobile. Michael takes it out of his pocket and starts to smile as he reads. “You dirty dog. All that wailing and crying about Kate thinking you’re cheating, and then it turns out you bloody are! So tell me, who’s this Nina?”
Nina. Oh God, she’s going to get dragged into this too. Sam keeps looking at the laptop. “Hang on, I’m just in the middle of a trade here and need to make sure I get it right.”
“Nice try, but you’re not getting away that easily. So who is she – some bird at work?” Michael sits back on the chair, grinning at the phone. “Come on, I want details. All that time when I was making it look like you were screwing around on Kate, you never thought to tell me you really were?”
Sam keeps looking at the laptop, furrowing his brow in concentration. How to play this isn’t clear, but letting Michael come up with his own answers makes more sense than talking.
“Go on, Sam, give me something. Is she good-looking? Young? Less cranky than Kate, I bet – that’s it, isn’t it? Nina. Nice name. I think I like Nina. She wants to meet up – what will I reply? Maybe I should meet her . . .
”
Sam looks up. “Leave her out of this. I mean it.”
Michael shakes his head. “If I don’t reply to your messages, people will be calling to see what’s wrong – can’t have that.” He looks at the screen, drumming his fingers on the back of the phone. “Do you ever meet her here – does she know where this house is?”
“No! And don’t tell her to come here – Michael, please.”
“Relax, I just want to be sure that if I tell her you fell down the stairs and broke your leg, she won’t turn up with flowers and a nurse’s uniform. She won’t, will she?”
Sam shakes his head. “She’s never been here and I can’t remember ever mentioning the address. I don’t think there’s any way she could just turn up.”
“All right then, we’ll go with that. Pity really, I kind of like the idea of meeting Nina.” He presses send on the message.
Sam keeps looking at the laptop screen, but he’s not seeing anything and his knuckles are white from gripping the sides. He offers a silent prayer to the God he hasn’t talked to in twenty-five years. Please let her leave it at that. But God’s not listening, and the reply comes within seconds.
Michael reads it out.
Oh my god, r u OK? Do u need anything? Is Kate looking after u?
“Oh, so she knows about Kate?”
Sam nods. This is dangerous ground.
“Jaysus, aren’t you the man! A wife and a mistress on the go, and the young one not minding at all that you’re married. Does she not want you to leave Kate?”
Sam shrugs. “Sorry, I need to pay attention to this trade – there’s a fair chunk of money at stake here.”
Michael stretches and lets out a groan, and Sam risks a sideways glance. He’s definitely bored with the baby-sitting now. Watching him all day can’t be remotely interesting. How long can this possibly go on? Actually he doesn’t want to think about that, or how it might end. Glancing towards the window, he wonders again where the little girl is now. Her face is on every news programme, with constant updates on the search. He wants to tell them – to scream at the TV that it’s too late. To tell them to stop looking for a live, kidnapped girl; to prepare to find a body. He had begged Michael for two full days to put her somewhere public and let her be found – to let the mother have some peace. But Michael just shook his head each time, then after a while he ignored him completely. The last time he’d brought it up, Michael had slapped him hard across the face and told him Jamie would be next if he didn’t stop. So he stopped.
Now Michael is texting on Sam’s phone again. To Nina? Or someone else? God knows what he’s replying to people. The sheer powerlessness of it swamps Sam again – the phone is so near, but out of his grasp it means nothing.
Michael looks up. “Just replying to your mistress. Don’t worry, I’m saying I don’t need anything and Kate is here. Will I put kisses? Do you put kisses?” He’s sneering again.
Sam shakes his head.
“No kisses it is. And . . . send.” He looks around the room then picks up his paper again but he’s read it front to back already. He puts it down and yawns.
Sam suppresses a smile. He’s trapped here, but actually, Michael is too.
Eventually, boredom wins out, and Michael takes the laptop out of the room. He throws the newspaper onto the bed, saying he’s going downstairs for a break. Sam’s shoulders ache from sitting up in bed hunched over the keyboard – he tries rolling them back and forward but it doesn’t do any good. He leans back against the pillow and picks up the paper. Edie Keogh is on the front page, but he can’t read it. The sound of the back door opening and closing draws his attention to the window. He hears a chair being dragged across the patio and then silence – perhaps the drug-dealing child-killer is taking time out to catch some rays. It would be comical if it wasn’t so horrific.
He picks up the pen and notebook from the locker and wonders if he should start a journal. Then he has a better idea.
A beeping sound wakes him – he must have nodded off. Is it his alarm? For a moment, Sam forgets where he is. The spare room is empty of everything but him – where is the noise coming from? A realisation hits – it’s his phone. And the noise came from his own bedroom on the other side of the wall. The phone is probably charging on his locker just as it always did. And if Michael doesn’t bring it with him when he goes downstairs, maybe he doesn’t have it when he goes out of the house either.
Excitement surges up inside Sam. Downstairs, the door opens and closes – Michael is on his way back up. Not today then. But there is hope.
Chapter 63
Sam – Thursday, August 4th 2016
As he becomes aware of being awake, Sam listens as he always does for the sound of the television – tuning into the voices on screen, keeping his eyes closed for as long as possible. It’s become a ritual. Work out what show is on, and use that to guess the time of day. It’s Teleshopping, so it’s early – real TV hasn’t started yet. Lying quietly, listening to the television, he forces himself to try moving his right leg – another ritual. And as always, the unbearable pain stops him. He grimaces and opens his eyes. Yes, it’s Teleshopping. And he watches as he does every time, because there’s nothing else to do.
Sam drifts back to sleep and when he wakes the next time, proper programmes have started. The morning shows and the news are his favourites, because they have the time on screen. It’s 8.05am but Michael hasn’t come in yet to put him to work. Maybe they’re having a duvet day, Sam thinks, and starts to smile at his own joke but changes his mind. He’s been in by half seven every other morning so far, cracking the whip – it’s odd there’s no sound yet. Or maybe he just slept in. In the meantime, Sam’s entertainment options are limited – TV stuck on one channel, or yesterday’s newspaper. He goes for Option C, closing his eyes to go back to sleep.
When he wakes again, the TV screen says it’s 9.32. Lying still, he listens, but there’s no sound anywhere in the house, apart from the low hum of the TV. Could Michael be gone out without sedating him? He looks down at the cluster of needle-marks on his arm. Or maybe the sedative wore off more quickly this time? His stomach flutters. Could he do it – would the phone even be there? He hasn’t been out of bed without Michael’s help since the assault, but then again, he hasn’t had the chance to try. How many days has it been now – nine? The bed isn’t high. Well, not too high. He’ll have to crawl head first – there’s no way to put weight on his legs without Michael holding him up. He eases himself over to the edge of the bed and turns onto his front, lowering his hands to the floor. There’s a warning twinge of pain in his left knee but nothing unbearable. Yet. The carpet feels good when his elbows touch down. He rests for a moment, then pulls himself forward along the ground so that his left hip is lying on the carpet, while his feet and ankles lie against the bed. Then another break, because the next bit will hurt. Reaching with his hand, he gently lifts his one leg from bed to floor. The pain that shoots through his body shocks him – forcing him to close his eyes and bite down on his arm. He steels himself to go again, lowering his other leg to the floor. Beads of sweat trickle down his forehead as he lies panting on the carpet. Michael could be back any minute – he has to keep going. On his stomach, he starts to pull himself along the floor. His legs groan under the pressure of movement, with every pull forward sending waves of pain, especially in his left knee. On the landing, he lies for a moment to summon the energy to keep going, then starts again, moving towards his own bedroom. He drags himself along the carpet and over the door saddle; the familiar wooden floor is a welcome relief. Another break then; lying still, sweating, breathing hard, pushing away the intensifying pain. Then using every bit of upper body strength left to pull his useless legs across the floor, he makes his way towards the bedside locker. He can picture the phone – the precious, life-saving phone – sitting there, glowing, waiting for him. From the ground, he reaches with one hand to feel for it on top of the locker. Nothing. He pushes himself up a little, to feel further back.
Still nothing. Of course – it’s on the other side – on Kate’s locker. A little voice inside his head says it’s not there at all. But it must be there. He heard it yesterday. Was it yesterday? It doesn’t matter – it must be there.
He stops again, then begins retracing his journey. By the time he reaches the other side, the pain in his left knee has become almost unbearable. He grits his teeth, sweating, staring at Kate’s locker ahead. Only three feet away now, then freedom. Taking a deep breath he launches himself forward, screaming with pain as his left knee gives in completely. But he’s made it. He reaches up. Nothing. There’s nothing on the floor either, or under the bed. No phone. Of course there’s no phone. It could be anywhere – it’s probably in Michael’s pocket. Crushed and exhausted, he lies on his bedroom floor, his shoulders shaking with heaving sobs.
Downstairs, the front door opens. Sam lifts his head to listen, but his body is completely frozen. Maybe he’ll go to the kitchen. But no, the next sound is a foot on the bottom step of the stairs. The ascent is slow, but not slow enough. Knowing it’s futile, Sam starts to pull himself back across the room. Using every last bit of strength, he pushes forward and moves about a foot along the floor, then another. It’s more than he thought he could do, but nowhere near enough. The footsteps have reached the top of the stairs. With rising panic, he looks at the bedroom door, then puts his head down in his arms, closing his eyes.
