by Andrea Mara
Michael smiles. “But I did know it. Because I was there, beside her bed, and I told her to take them. That night, I mean. You were sound asleep, and I locked you in just to be on the safe side. Then I sat beside Ma’s bed and told her to say her prayers and to take the extra pills.”
Sam goes cold. “Why? Why would you do that, and why would she?”
“Why? Because my da was up for parole, and I wanted to be sure to get the flat. And to be honest, I’d had enough of her. She was a pain at that stage, rattling around the place, needing help with everything. She was good in the end too – she didn’t even argue much. She did it for you, Sam, really – I told her she could take the pills, or I’d burn down the flat with both of you in it. She chose you. So I suppose in a way, you’re still responsible for her death.” He laughs, his mouth wide, his teeth bared.
Sam is transfixed, staring at his mouth. Jesus Christ! Poor Bella. He must have spoken the last words out loud, because Michael is talking again now.
“Poor Bella? She was a waste of space. She never gave a shit about me – she only cared about you, Sam, and in the end that’s why she took the pills – because she loved you best.”
Sam sits up straighter. “Jesus Christ, Michael! That was all in your head – she was my aunt for fuck’s sake, and she was fond of me the way aunts are fond of their nephews, the way Claire was fond of you! She never preferred me to you. My God, this self-pity is incredible – do you even hear yourself?”
Michael’s mouth is open now but Sam keeps going.
“There are children up and down the country who are not loved enough by their parents, and it has nothing to do with where they’re born – there are kids in mansions who crave attention they’re not getting and kids in flats like yours and everything in between. There are kids who go to school without hugs and kids who go to school without breakfast and you were neither of those things – not once, not ever. Bella loved you enough for two parents all your life – you never went without.”
His voice is getting louder and Michael is clenching and unclenching his fists but Sam’s not finished.
“You took something good and turned it into something miserable – and it was all in your head. You fixated on where your dad was instead of looking at what was right in front of you – your mother, making up for all of it every day of her life. You think this was done to you and you had no choice – you always had a choice, Michael. You were brought up in a loving home where you wanted for nothing. So fucking what if you weren’t in a private school? Most kids aren’t. So fucking what if you didn’t have foreign holidays? It was the eighties – most children didn’t. You spent your life looking at what other people had – what I had – and never took a second to think about what you had yourself. And then you went and killed it all – you took the life of the one person who loved you more than anything.”
Sam slumps back in the bed and braces himself for the smack that’s coming but Michael drops his fists to his side. For a moment, he says nothing. Sam watches his face – is there a hint of regret there? Maybe, but just as quickly the sneer is back.
“Easy for you to see it that way, Sam, growing up in the big house with everything you wanted, and your parents fawning all over you.”
“Enough. Don’t you dare speak about my parents.” Sam’s voice has an iron edge to it, but Michael keeps going.
“Your parents? They were part of the problem. Your da especially. The looks he used to give me. He deserved everything he got in the end.”
Sam’s fist shoots out before he thinks about it, but he’s too weak to make any impact. Michael laughs as he swipes Sam’s hand away. “You know what I’ll think about till the day I die? Your da’s face, just before I hit him with the car. I like to think that at the last second he knew it was me.”
Sam slumps back in the pillow, his blood running cold. “No. I’m not buying it. You couldn’t have done it.”
“Sam, what do you think I do for a living? That was one of the easiest hits ever. He just walked out in the middle of the road, and stood there like a deer, waiting to be run over. It was beautiful. Just beautiful. And then you were all so grateful to me for helping with the funeral.” He laughs again. “I almost wanted to tell you at the time, so you’d get the irony. But obviously you might not have found it as funny as I did.”
Sam closes his eyes to block out Michael but he can’t block the image summoned up by Michael’s words. Over and over now, he sees his father standing in the middle of the road, watching as the car speeds towards him, realising too late it will deliberately mow him down. A sob catches in his throat. He turns towards the wall, willing Michael to go away, and for the first time wishing for an end, even if that means never waking up.
Chapter 74
Sam – Friday, September 9th
He knows as soon as he opens his eyes that this is the day. No blurriness, no forgetting, no customary fog. Today is the day it ends. He sits up and slips his hand down behind the mattress. The glass is still there. He stops, but only for a moment, then pulls it out. After six weeks of drifting, everything is crystal clear. He knows what to do. Wrapping the glass in his grimy, yellowed pillowcase, he smacks it hard against the wall, praying it won’t wake Michael. The first time, nothing happens. He smacks it again, and this time it breaks. Quickly he empties the pillowcase onto the bed – the glass is in four separate pieces. He tries each one for size then makes his choice. It’s no bigger than his palm, and it’s not an ideal shape – something long and knife-like would be better. But it’s sharp. He shoves the other pieces of glass under the edge of the mattress and puts the pillowcase back on the pillow.
He takes a tissue from the packet on the locker and carefully wraps it around one half of the glass. It’s not thick enough – he takes another tissue and does the same. Now he can grip it. It’s comforting in his hand. He lifts it in the air and lashes at an imaginary Michael. It’s no longer comforting. The thought of slicing through skin turns his stomach – but if he misses it’s all over anyway. Analyse it, says the voice in his head. Look at all possible outcomes and weigh up the risks. If he kills Michael, he can take his phone and call for help. If he injures him, he may be able to do the same. If Michael turns the glass back on him, there will be pain and disfigurement and presumably death. He looks at his mangled legs and pockmarked arms and mottled skin and makes a decision. Downstairs, the kitchen door opens. Sam slides the glass under his right thigh and lies back against the pillow. He closes his eyes and waits.
The footsteps on the stairs sound slower today and one part of him is screaming at Michael to turn back. Not because Michael deserves to be saved – Michael doesn’t deserve to be saved – but because he might not be able to do it – to raise his hand and strike down as hard as he can, to deliberately slice through skin and flesh. Then he sees John’s face again and he stops begging Michael to turn back. Today is the day.
The door opens and Michael walks in. Sam keeps his eyes closed and his hands by his sides. The glass is just millimetres from his fingers and he wants to check it’s still there but he doesn’t move.
Michael puts the computer on his lap and a cup of tea on the bedside locker. Sam’s heart is beating so loudly in his chest he’s sure Michael can hear it. Just act normal, says the voice inside his head. You’ve analysed the situation and decided on a course of action. Stay calm and follow through. He slows his breathing and opens his eyes. Today is the day.
“Right, there’s toast here,” Michael says, “And I have some good news for you.” He’s smiling.
Sam doesn’t trust his voice, so raises his eyebrows instead.
“My new friends Tom and Sylvia have done you a big favour. You wanted to know where our little friend from the pond was – well, she was in the shed at first – I had to put her there when the bell was ringing that night. Then I put her in a shallow grave beside the pond, ready for the police to find her if you didn’t play ball. But since you’ve done so well on cleaning the money, I’ve move
d her.” Michael stops, waiting for a reaction.
Sam feels sick.
“Where?” he manages to croak out eventually.
“Next door,” Michael says triumphantly. “Remember I helped dig a grave for the dog and then she didn’t use it? Well, I figured, why let all that digging go to waste? So I moved our friend in there last night. You’re off the hook for that now, and with a bit of luck, next door will never cop either. Or if your one gets really annoying, I’ll send the Guards in to have a look at her house instead. Ha! What do you think?”
Sam swallows, and shakes his head. His eyes are watering now and he doesn’t know if it’s for Edie Keogh’s poor little body or the fear of what he’s about to do.
Michael doesn’t notice. “Jesus, I thought you’d be more grateful,” he says, opening his newspaper. “Right, let’s get to work so.”
Sam switches on the laptop and logs into his trading account. His breathing feels foreign and awkward, and he risks a sideways glance at his cousin.
Michael catches the look. “What’s wrong?”
Sam shakes his head but doesn’t trust his voice to answer.
“Are you sick? You’re sweating,” Michael says, pointing at Sam’s forehead.
Sam wipes his brow with his forearm and shakes his head again, then focuses on the screen. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Michael looking at him for a moment longer, then he goes back to his paper.
Sam taps on the keyboard. He needs Michael to come closer – he’s too far away. Slowly he slides his hand down to his leg and feels for the glass. It’s still there. Of course it is. He puts his hand back on the keyboard and thinks for another minute. Then he clicks into Michael’s biggest fund and switches the display currency to Japanese Yen. Now 545,110 in Euro is showing as 668 million in Yen. He takes a deep breath.
“Michael,” he croaks, then clears his throat and tries again. “Michael – look at this!” He points to the screen. “Six hundred million!”
Michael drops the paper to the floor and leans across to look. Sam eases his right hand down and touches the glass. Michael’s head is on front of the screen and he’s babbling something about how he fucking knew Sam could do it, he always knew it. Sam clutches the piece of glass. This is the day. He pulls it out and raises his hand. Michael turns his head. “How is it suddenly six hundred million?” he asks, and his face changes as he sees the glass plunge towards his neck. He jumps back, but not quickly enough. Sam slashes the glass down as hard as he can. He feels it make contact with flesh, slicing through, sharper than he’d hoped. He wants to pull it out and slash again and somewhere deep inside he’s shocked at how much he wants to stab over and over but it’s too late – Michael is out of reach now, on the floor, crawling backwards until he’s lying against the bedroom wall, holding his bleeding shoulder. Alive. Very much alive. And out of reach. His face is contorted with pain and rage and surprise – the last one is the most satisfying of all. Sam sits up straight in the bed, still gripping the glass, willing Michael to come to take it off him so he can try again. His hand is bleeding, the tissue is soaked in red but he can’t feel anything. All he wants to do is try again. He waits. He can wait forever now.
Michael pulls himself to his feet, never taking his eyes off Sam. He starts to move towards the bed. Sam clenches the glass tighter, watching Michael’s face. The arrogance, the supreme confidence – he doesn’t think Sam will do it again. He’s so wrong about that. So fundamentally wrong. Sam raises his hand. He’s not afraid now – not afraid of what Michael will do, not afraid of cutting. Then Michael turns and picks up the vase from the corner. He lifts it above his head, his eyes wide and flecked with fury. Too late, Sam sees what’s coming. He lashes out with the glass but it swipes uselessly through the air, missing Michael’s chest by inches, just as the vase comes crashing down on his skull. And again, everything is black.
Chapter 75
Kate – Friday, September 9th 2016
Sylvia leans on the bar and frowns, taking another look at the photo on Kate’s phone. “But why would your husband pretend he had a dog called Max, if it was his cousin’s dog? It makes no sense.” She signals to the barman for two more glasses of wine and hands the phone back.
“But that’s the point – you haven’t been talking to Sam at all as far as I can see. The person here,” she points at her phone, “is Sam. You’re saying that’s not the guy you’ve been talking to?”
“But then who is the man I met in your house and why is he pretending to be your husband?”
Kate throws up her hands. “I have no idea. This is all news to me. If he’s talking about Max though, I wonder if Michael is staying there, and maybe he thought it would be funny to pretend he’s Sam? Or perhaps you assumed he was Sam when you first met him, and he never corrected you? I remember that happened me in my old job once – this new guy started and thought my name was Sophie and I hadn’t the heart to tell him it wasn’t, and the longer it went on, the harder it was to correct him. So I just left it, and then he moved department and I never needed to tell him at all.”
Sylvia is shaking her head before she gets to the end of the story. “No, definitely not. He introduced himself when I called in – I wouldn’t have known his name otherwise. Do you have any pictures of Michael?”
Kate scrolls through her camera roll but there’s nothing. She thought she had some from Seth’s birthday but they’re all just of the boys. “Hang on,” she says, “I’ll find one on Facebook.” She clicks in and as though he’s read her mind, Michael is the first person in her newsfeed. “There he is in a photo from this evening – he’s on his way into that American football game in Belton Stadium. So, is that the person you met?”
Sylvia’s mouth opens as she takes the phone for a closer look. “Yes, that’s Sam – well, that’s the person who told me he was Sam. That’s his cousin? Why did he say he was your husband? God, I’ve seen him in and out all summer, but I’ve never seen anyone else around at all. If that’s Michael, then where is Sam?”
The answer – the only logical answer – is staring Kate in the face. He’s staying with his girlfriend. What an asshole. Well, if he’s moved out, she’s bloody well moving back in – what’s the point in Michael living there?
“You know what, I’m going there now to find out what he’s up to and to sort this out for once and for all.” Slipping off the bar stool, she puts on her coat. “I’m really sorry, Sylvia, I know this is rude. But why am I living in my mother’s tiny house in Stillorgan while Sam hands our big family home over to his cousin? I’m not letting him away with that. No. Fucking. Way.”
Sylvia puts on her coat too. “You’re absolutely right. We can go for drinks again when it’s all sorted, and you’re back next door where you belong.”
Outside, the drizzle has turned to heavy rain, and neither of them has an umbrella – they start to run towards the taxi rank. It’s still early – there’s a line of yellow lights waiting for them, and they jump into the cab at the top.
Kate gives the address to the driver and turns to Sylvia. “So with all that, I forgot to tell you about Nina.”
“Who’s Nina?” Sylvia asks, buckling her seat belt and brushing raindrops off her coat.
“Exactly – that’s what I was wondering when she knocked on my car window at the school today. Wait till you hear this.” Kate takes a deep breath. “So, there I am, minding my own business, when this gorgeous-looking girl turns up and tells me her name is Nina, and she’s worried about my husband. Now, this girl is stunning – big brown eyes, skin I’d die for – and when she mentioned Sam, I didn’t know what to think. I assumed she’s the one – the girlfriend. So I started on at her, saying she had a cheek to turn up and how dare she and all that. I asked her if Sam had sent her, and she said no – that she’s worried about him. Can you imagine my reaction?”
“Oh my God, unreal! Did she think you were going to be buddies or something?”
“Well, wait till you hear. So, she tells me she f
ound me because she guessed I’d be picking up the boys from school. Obviously at this point I was livid. And I told her that it was bad enough she was sleeping with my husband, but there’s no way she’s having anything to do with the boys – ever.”
Sylvia nods her agreement. “I’d be exactly the same. You’re absolutely in the right.”
“But then . . . Okay, wait for it. She bursts out laughing.”
“Are you serious? Oh, sorry, you were meant to turn right here,” Sylvia says to the taxi driver.
He mutters something and does a U-turn.
“Yes. I didn’t know what to think. I mean, she’s about twenty, so I thought maybe this is just how girls are today or something. Anyway, I’m about to slap her to get her to stop laughing, and she tells me she’s not sleeping with Sam.”
“Well, she would say that.”
“She says she’s his daughter.”
“What?”
“I know. So basically, back when Sam and I first got together, his ex-girlfriend came home from the States to visit, and he slept with her. He confessed everything to me – the big eejit – and I went mental. We got back together though, and that was that. Except apparently Molly – that’s his ex – got pregnant. And Nina was the kid. Is the kid.”
“Jesus. And he never told you?”
“He didn’t know. According to Nina, Molly only got in touch with him earlier this year, because Nina wanted to meet him. Then Molly got sick, and Nina was having a tough time, and apparently he’s been helping her get through it all. Or something. To be honest, at that point I wasn’t even registering what she was saying. I was just looking at her thinking she’s Seth and Jamie’s half-sister. I mean, this is huge.”
