In a Moment

by Caroline Finnerty

  After a while the music stopped. The lights were coming on. He could see forlorn faces. They all felt it. He searched out their God up high and begged him with wide eyes not to stop but already he was packing up. The lights illuminated bay upon bay of empty racking and for the first time he saw how vast the place was.

  Despondent bodies began to filter out of the warehouse, subdued and exhausted from hours of hardcore dancing. It was raining and the droplets felt cool as they danced along his bare skin. The chemical high from before was rapidly evaporating as bare-chested men and semi-naked women stood huddled around outside with vacant faces and dilated pupils as the fear began to ascend, disenchanted that it was all over and now they were faced with reality again. The amphetamines were still racing around his body but the warm feeling had worn off; he needed something to replace this awful sinking feeling. He saw the girl that had kissed him earlier on; she was shivering in the moonlight. She looked older than she had inside. She was more wrinkled and instead of looking toned, now she just looked bony. He watched her angular body, with its bones jutting out all over as she stood taking long drags from her cigarette, exhaling grey plumes onto the night air. He could now see her teeth had yellow pockets in between. He had to get away from her. She was bringing him down. He needed to escape from everyone here with their empty faces. He whistled to the lads and they all headed over to his car. Aido asked three girls who were standing nearby in the rain if they wanted to go to a party. They shrugged their shoulders and, with no better offers, squashed in on top of the four lads sitting in the backseat of the small Honda Civic. He had to get out of there.

  He drove fast, speeding along the main road. The roads were empty, with only the silvery glow of the moon keeping them company. They turned off that road after a few miles, branching onto back roads, pot-holed country lanes.

  “Da, da, da, da-da!” Aido was humming a tune from the rave in the passenger seat beside him. He tapped his foot to the beat. “Da, da, da, da-da!” He kept going, repeating the same five notes on loop until Paul felt as though Da-da-da was boring holes in his skull and drilling into his brain. “Da, da, da, da-da!”

  “Would you ever shut the fuck up!”

  “Jesus!” Aido let out a low whistle. “Relax the fuck, Paul!”

  The car descended into silence again as Paul drove faster. He swung around a corner onto the other side of the road. His passengers all swung with the gravity to the right and then back again. One of the girls started to laugh, high-pitched and squealy. It drilled through Paul’s skull. Eventually he pulled up outside his home.

  He let them in the door. The house was in darkness so he turned on all the lights. He walked over to the CD player and took out the CD in it that belonged to Jean, flung it onto the floor and put in his own CD of trance music. He left them all there in the sitting room while he went up to his room to get some gear. He needed to get rid of this feeling. He snorted line after line of the white powder until the membranes of his nose were tingling and his gums numb from where he rubbed it on directly. The cocaine gave him a different buzz altogether, the feeling of euphoria was gone – instead he felt alert and his heart was thumping in his chest.

  He could hear the others laughing and shouting in the sitting room. What the fuck were they laughing at? The girl with the laugh let out another squeal before her and Mick descended into fits of laughter again. He wondered what was so bloody funny. Were they laughing at him? It better not be about him because it was his bloody house and no one would laugh at him in his own house.

  He went back down to the sitting room and threw himself into the centre of the couch between two of the girls. He felt a hand move along his leg and when he looked to find out whose hand it was, the girl smiled at him. Her eyes were half closed and Paul knew she was in her own world. Her hand moved further along the top of his thighs towards his crotch and he felt himself instantly harden. He needed to release it. He looked at the faces in his own sitting room and pulled the girl up and led her into the kitchen.

  He sat on one the wooden kitchen chairs and undid his fly. He kicked off his trainers, unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them off together with his boxers, throwing them onto the floor. Wearing only his socks, he guided her down on top of him. She swayed backwards unsteadily for a few moments so he had to hold her. He lifted her dress so it was above her waist and moved her tight lacy thong to the side and seconds later he was in. He gripped her hips and moved her up and down on top of him, until she was grinding against him. He looked up at her; her eyes were closed now. He started to go harder, pounding away on the verge for an age until finally he felt himself explode inside her. He sat back into the chair and she slumped forward so that her head was hanging over his shoulder. He held her back out from him by her two shoulders and shook her.

  “Fucking hell – wake up!”

  She opened her eyes, smiled at him before closing them down again and slid back into her trance. He got out from underneath her and stood up while she slumped back down on the chair. How could she sleep through that?

  He lit himself a cigarette on the gas cooker and stood looking at her where she slumped on the chair, her skirt still above her waist so that everything was on show. Served her right, the stupid bitch.

  27

  Jean had woken up to the sound of shouting coming from her living room. She’d quickly sat up in her bed and listened, to try and figure out what was going on. It was followed by someone roaring in laughter, then more shouting and screeching. The light from the hall was flooding under her door and illuminating her bedroom. It was Paul. Her clock said it was 3.05 a.m. This isn’t fair, she thought. Whatever about her not being able to sleep, Chloe and Kyle had school in the morning.

  She’d sat there contemplating what she should do, hoping the noise might die down by itself but when it became clear that that wasn’t going to happen, she got out of bed and wrapped her terrycloth dressing-gown over her pyjamas, before making her way down towards the noise.

  Bracing herself, she pushed open her sitting-room door. Her eyes had to adjust to the light as she took in a crowd of teenagers sprawled across every conceivable space in her small sitting room. The air was heavy with thick white smoke and cans were littered around the floor and coffee table. As she took in the torn pieces of white paper, ripped cigarette boxes and tinfoil strips that were strewn everywhere, she could feel the rage starting to build inside. How dare he! She scanned the unfamiliar faces that didn’t even look up at her. No one seemed to register her standing there and if they did, they weren’t too perturbed by her presence.

  “Where’s Paul?” she asked a girl who was closest to her but she just shrugged her shoulders at her. She probably doesn’t even know who Paul is, thought Jean. She looked at the vacant faces to see if there was anyone she knew but she had never seen these people before.

  She stepped over legs and strung-out bodies, walked over and switched off the CD player, instantly bringing the room to silence before going into the kitchen. She stopped in the doorway and took in the sight of her son standing over beside the cooker. His back was towards her and he was bent forward onto the worktop in the process of snorting a line of cocaine. A girl sat slumped on one of the wooden kitchen chairs. Her skirt was pulled up over her hips so she could see her little thong and much of her pubic area.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  He swung around at the sound of her voice, his eyes blazing and his teeth bared.

  “This isn’t on, Paul. This is my house – Chloe and Kyle have school in the morning!”

  “Fuck off!”

  “Paul, I’m serious, I want all your friends out of the house immediately.”

  The girl on the chair suddenly began to sway and Jean rushed over to steady her. She opened her eyes momentarily, before smiling at Jean and shutting them down again. She was out of it.

  “No one’s going anywhere!” he roared at her.

  “Paul, please, I’m asking you – just tell everyone to go home.
The party’s over.”

  “No, it’s fucking not, you stupid bitch! Who the fuck do you think you are, trying to tell me what to do?”

  “I’m your mother, Paul –”

  “No, you’re bleedin’ not! You’re nothing to me!” He lunged forward so that before she knew it, she was lying on the ground and he was on top of her, thumping her in the head. She could hear herself screaming at him to stop from afar, “Stop it, Paul . . . please . . . stop!” She screamed for help, anyone, but the swaying girl merely opened her glazed eyes again and stayed slumped on the chair.

  Through swollen eyes she saw Chloe and Kyle come into the room, the fear written all over their small faces. Mercifully Paul stopped punching her when he saw them and Jean thanked a God she didn’t believe in. She tried to speak to them to tell them it was okay but the words wouldn’t come out and instead she had to spit out a mouthful of blood. She watched the blood, mixed with spit, pool on her beige kitchen tiles. Chloe and Kyle both turned and ran out of the room and Jean prayed they would just stay in their room, out of his way until he had calmed down. She reached upwards to grab onto the edge of the table and managed to pull herself up onto her feet. Her head was spinning and she had to hold onto the table to keep steady. Through slitted eyes she saw ruby-red trails of blood were staining her pyjamas. Paul was standing holding onto the sink with his back to her. Using the wall as an aid, she managed to feel her way quietly over to the door; she had to get away from him. She had just put her foot onto the wooden floor in the hallway when she heard heavy footsteps behind her.

  “Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” he roared.

  “Paul – stop – I –”

  He grabbed hold of her wrist and swung it back until she heard it crack. The pain seared through her arm. The thumps rained down on her again, heavy and fast, as she slid onto the floor, putting her hands over her head to protect herself until she thought she was going to pass out. She didn’t know how long the beating went on for.

  Finally she heard a noise coming from behind the door.

  “Stop what you’re doing! Gardaí Síochána. Stop!”

  Someone finally pulled him off her. A woman’s voice could be heard talking softly to her but Jean couldn’t make out her face through eyes that were almost closed now.

  “You’re okay now, it’s okay. It’s all going to be okay.”

  The woman helped her up and sat her at the table and Jean realised she was a Garda. She began to cough and had to spit out another mouthful of blood. She could hear the Gardaí ordering everyone out of the house. She watched as Paul was put into handcuffs and led away. The girl who had been strung out through Jean’s ordeal came to, looked at the scene around her and just walked out, oblivious to what had just happened in the same room as her.

  “Don’t worry, the ambulance is on its way,” the female Garda reassured her. “I think your wrist is probably broken and we need to get those cuts looked at – you might need some stitches.”

  She went to the fridge and Jean could hear her rooting around in the freezer.

  “Here, put this on it.” She held a bag of frozen peas wrapped in a tea towel up to Jean’s head.

  And then the tears started as the shock began to subside. Jean hadn’t cried in years but they were flowing freely now; the worry, the fear for the last few months, the relief that the Gardaí had come when they did, the kindness of the woman looking after her – it was all released.

  “It’s okay, you get it all out,” the Garda said, holding onto her shoulders. “It’s not the first time, is it?”

  She shook her head, her whole body heaving with sobs. She registered the small outlines of Chloe and Kyle as they appeared around the door before they ran over and put their arms around her. She tried to hug them as best she could.

  “How did you know to come?” Jean asked the Garda.

  “This brave little man here gave us a call.” The Garda smiled at Kyle.

  Jean looked at the shy face of her ten-year-old son and felt a horrible mixture of deep gratitude and guilt; he shouldn’t have had to do that.

  “I’m so sorry!” She began sobbing louder until Kyle and Chloe joined in and the three of them huddled together crying.

  “Now, have you anyone who can come and look after these two while you’re gone to the hospital?” asked the Garda.

  Jean didn’t want to call Louise, she really didn’t want to do that, but she didn’t exactly have many options. She nodded meekly.

  “I can call my sister.”

  The game was up; she knew she could no longer hide the truth from Louise.

  * * *

  The hospital put seven stitches in the wound above her eyebrow before bandaging it with a large gauze pad that stretched halfway across her forehead. They gave her drops to take down the swelling in her eyes so she could see out through them again and her left wrist was put into a cast all the way from her forearm down over her hand.

  When she finally got back home after seven in the morning she was exhausted by the night’s events. Her bruised and battered body was weary. She rang the bell and Louise ran out into the hallway to let her in. She threw her arms around her younger sister. They walked in silence into the sitting room where Louise had been waiting up for her with only the lamp lighting up the room. Jean noticed the room had been tidied up from its earlier state but it still reeked of stale smoke and beer.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?” Louise started to cry.

  “I’m so sorry, Louise, I couldn’t – I just couldn’t bring myself to say it.”

  “I’m so sorry! I knew something was up the other day. I knew something wasn’t right, I just knew it, but I went off and left you. He did that too, didn’t he? That bruise over your eye last week, that was him, wasn’t it?”

  Jean nodded.

  “God, Jean, I’m so, so sorry. I let you down. You must have been so scared!”

  “Sure, what are you sorry for? I should have told you but it’s hard, you know, to admit your own son has done that to you. I just don’t know what has come over him . . . the last few months, it has been like living with – a – a time-bomb.”

  “I wish you had told me, I could have helped you out, got Brian to talk to him or something?”

  “I think he’s beyond talking to at this stage.”

  “Jesus Christ, he could have killed you – that wound over your eye and your wrist – how could he lay a finger on his own mother? How could he do that to you?” The anger in Louise’s voice was unmistakable.

  Jean stayed silent; she was wondering the same thing herself. They stayed like that, looking at each other.

  “How are the other two?”

  “They’re fine – they were a bit upset when you left but they’re fast asleep now.”

  “Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know, I really don’t know,” she sighed.

  “Hopefully getting the Gardaí involved now will have given him the wake-up call he needs.”

  “I hope you’re right.” I really hope you’re right.

  After they had talked it out, Jean tiptoed into the bedroom that Chloe and Kyle shared. Although it was nearly time to be getting up for school, no one would be going to school today. Their room was divided in two by an invisible line down the middle so that only they knew where it was. Their peaceful faces were lost in the land of slumber and showed no signs of their fears from earlier on. She hoped they were dreaming sweet dreams. She felt a pang of guilt for what they had seen that night. They must have been scared out of their minds, especially if Kyle had rung the Gardaí. How brave he had been! She gave them both a kiss on their foreheads before creeping out again and shutting the door quietly behind her.

  Jean hadn’t realised how difficult things would be with only one functioning hand so she was glad Louise was there to help her to get ready for bed. Louise tucked her younger sister up, making sure she was comfortable, before heading home herself to get her own two re
ady for school but promising she would be over again later on.

  When she was finally alone, an exhausted Jean fell into a deep sleep; nights of broken sleep full of raging fears and worry had finally caught up with her. She didn’t wake until she heard her doorbell ringing. Her head was thumping. She looked at her cast momentarily before it all came flooding back to her. As she got out of bed, her whole body felt stiff and achy. She made her way towards the door. She caught sight of her reflection in the hall mirror. Jesus. She was startled by her bruised and swollen face and the white bandage across her forehead. Through the glazed panes at the end of the hall, she could make out the shape of the two Gardaí from last night standing on her doorstep again. She pulled back the door to them.

  “How are you this morning, Jean?” They both smiled kindly at her.

  “I’ve been better.”

  They both nodded at her. “Of course.”

  “We didn’t really get a chance to introduce ourselves properly last night. I’m Garda Lisa Jones and this is Garda Terence Fingleton. We just want to have a talk about the events last night, the lead up to it etcetera.”

  “Sure. Will we go into the sitting room?”

  They sat beside each other on the sofa while Jean sat gingerly into the armchair.

  “Now, there’s no need to worry,” said Terence Fingleton. “Paul is sleeping it off in a cell but we need to ascertain what exactly happened last night.”

  She relayed the story as best she could remember but it had all happened so fast she wasn’t sure if she was recalling everything exactly as it had unfolded. They nodded sympathetically and took notes as she spoke but for every word they wrote down against her son, Jean felt a stabbing in her heart.

  “What we need to determine is where you want to go from here?” said Lisa Jones.