The Perfect Couple (ARC)

by Jackie Kabler

  took over.

  ‘Seriously? Easy for you? You think it’s been easy for me? You tried to frame me, Danny.

  For MURDER. Do you realize how sick that is? Just because, for whatever reason, you wanted

  to go and start a new life abroad? What the fuck is wrong with you? WHY, DANNY? WHY

  ANY OF THIS, FOR FUCK’S SAKE?’

  I was screaming by then, on my feet, leaning across the table, almost spitting at him.

  Albert was on his feet too, looking uneasily from me to Danny, tail between his legs. Danny

  shrank back in his chair, and I stayed there, looking at him for a moment, then groaned and

  turned away. I walked across the kitchen to the window and stared blankly out of it. I didn’t

  know what else to say, what else to do. He was probably going to tell me he’d fallen in love

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  with someone else, and I suddenly realized I didn’t even care anymore. I just needed him to

  go. Out in the hallway, I heard my mobile phone begin to ring. I ignored it.

  ‘Leave, Danny,’ I said softly, without turning around. ‘Go away. Start your new life.

  We’re done here.’

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  ‘Gemma O’Connor’s not answering, guv.’

  DC Frankie Stevens waved his desk phone handset at Helena, and she nodded.

  ‘OK, I’ll try her again in a bit. In the meantime, I need to get on the road. Devon, you’re

  with me, OK?’

  ‘Sure,’ he said grimly. ‘No place else I’d rather be right now.’

  She flashed him a tight smile. ‘We’re going to get him you know. We are. If it’s the last

  thing I ever do in this bloody job.’

  And it might be, she thought. It might be the last thing I ever do in the job. We’ve messed

  this up, I’ve messed this up. I got this so, so wrong. Wasted so much time looking at it in

  completely the wrong way, looking at the wrong person. And now I have to put it right.

  Somehow. I have to.

  She took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, then turned to the board, where a

  big red ring had been drawn around one of the photos that had been pinned up there for the past

  two and half weeks.

  ‘So let’s go and do it,’ she said. ‘Let’s go and find our serial killer. Let’s find Danny

  O’Connor.’

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  ‘Go, Danny. Get out of here. I can’t even look at you.’

  I still had my back to him, trying to fight back the tears.

  ‘Not yet. I need to tell you everything, I need to get it off my chest. But first, Gemma, I

  need you to promise me something. I know you owe me nothing, not after this. Not after what

  I’ve done to you, what I’ve put you through. But please, Gemma, if you ever loved me, promise

  me one last thing? Promise me that when I tell you what I’m about to tell you, that you’ll keep

  it to yourself? That you won’t tell anyone, anyone at all? Please, Gemma, can you promise me

  that? And then I’ll tell you, and I’ll go. You’ll never have to see me again.’

  Seriously? He’s seriously asking me for a favour, after what he’s done? For a moment

  anger swelled inside me, then just as quickly subsided. Suddenly I felt tired, so very, very tired.

  I didn’t know if I could actually take anymore; what he’d already told me had been more than

  enough, way, way more. But fine, whatever. What does it matter, now?

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I’m assuming you’ve met someone else, Danny, and do you know

  what? I don’t care. I really, seriously, don’t give a flying shit. But go on, if you must. I’ll keep

  your tawdry little secret. Let’s just get it over with,’ I said, wearily. I turned to look at him, my

  stomach twisting with misery.

  ‘Promise? Is that a promise, Gemma?’

  ‘Bloody hell. Yes, it’s a promise,’ I spat the words at him.

  ‘OK. OK. Thank you. Well, here we go.’

  He clenched and unclenched his fists once, twice, three times, staring down at his hands.

  Then he looked back at me.

  ‘I lied to the police, Gemma. I made up a cock and bull story to explain why I needed to

  disappear. I told them my life was in danger, and yours too, because I’d got myself in trouble

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  with a dodgy client, and they believed every word. But that wasn’t true, and I want to tell you

  what really happened. And it’s not that I’ve met someone else I want to be with, by the way. I

  wish I had, I wish that’s all it was. It’s … well, it’s something different. Something …

  something awful, Gemma.’

  He stopped talking, took a deep breath.

  ‘OK, here we go. So, when I was a kid, my dad … well, he was a bastard. And I mean a

  real, nasty bastard. He drank, heavily, and when he was drunk he’d come home and beat up my

  mum. Beat her up badly, you know, hospital bad. For no reason, other than he liked to be the

  big man, to keep her at his beck and call. He hit me too, any excuse. He’d batter me black and

  blue, for things like dropping toast crumbs on the floor at breakfast or bringing mud in from

  outside on my shoes. There was rarely a day when one of us didn’t get punched or slapped.

  Rarely a day, for years and years.’

  For a moment, puzzled, I didn’t reply, the unexpectedness of this change in direction

  taking me by surprise, and trying to reconcile this description of Donal with the frail pensioner

  in the armchair I’d met on the one occasion I’d visited the family home. I mean, I hadn’t liked

  the man at all. He’d seemed cold, hard, deeply unpleasant. But violent, really?

  My scepticism must have shown on my face, because Danny said: ‘Oh, he wasn’t like

  that in his final years, obviously. Too old, too ill, thank God. But back then … he was an

  animal, Gemma. You can’t even imagine.’

  Maybe I can, though, I thought. Yes, Donal had been frail when I’d met him. But he had

  still been very much in control of that household, I remembered suddenly. Bridget still

  scurrying around, doing his bidding. Still scared of him, even then? Was that why she was how

  she was? If what Danny was saying was true, it must have been dreadful, for all of them, to

  live like that. Still not understanding why he was telling me, what his childhood had to do with

  any of this mess, I said quietly: ‘I’m sorry. That’s awful,’ because it was.

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  Danny didn’t respond, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him.

  ‘And he was unfaithful to Mum too, over and over and over again. He’d stay away night

  after night, shagging other women, and then he’d come home and brag about it, tell her a good

  lookin’ fella like him didn’t have to settle for a frumpy little woman like her, he could have

  anyone he liked. She was there to cook and clean and iron his clothes, nothing much more than

  that. I can remember maybe three or four times in my whole childhood that they went out

  together for a dinner or a party. It was toxic, the worst possible atmosphere to grow up in. I

  spent years being afraid, waiting for the next blow, the next fist in the stomach, the next row.’

  ‘Shit, Danny.’

  He was staring into space now, his eyes glazed, as if watching his childhood play out in

  front of him, and I had a sudden urge to cross the room and take him in my arms, to comfort

  him, to take some of the pain away. Then I remembered what he’d done to me, and my heart

  hardened again.

 
Unfaithful? Over and over again? Like father, like son, I thought bitterly, and I stayed

  where I was. The sooner it was over, the sooner I could get him out of there.

  ‘It went on for years, Gemma. And you know what the worst thing was? We put up with

  it, both of us. Me and mum. When Liam was born – and God knows how that happened, but I

  don’t want to think about that – I felt sick for weeks, sick scared that Dad would move onto

  him next. But he never did. I never knew why, but he never did. Liam was special, in more

  ways than one, and the fact that my father never laid a hand on him in anger is the one

  redeeming feature of his whole sick, twisted life. But he carried on, same old same old, with

  me and Mum, and we carried on putting up with it. And to this day I don’t really know why,

  you know? It was like he had this … this power over us. We never told anyone, we never

  reported him. We blamed our injuries on accidents, on falls, if anyone ever asked, though God

  knows why anyone believed us, we’d need to have been falling over every second day to

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  account for the number of bruises we both had all the time. Maybe it was partly because we

  were ashamed I suppose, ashamed of what our lives were like when all around us everyone

  else seemed normal, happy. But mostly, we were scared. Scared of him, scared of what he’d

  do to us if we fought back, if we stood up to him. We let him carry on, and we did nothing. We

  did absolutely feckin’ nothing.’

  He punched the table, hard, his face flushing with anger, and another wave of sympathy

  rushed over me. Poor Danny, I thought. And poor Bridget too, still so angry at everyone and

  everything. What a life she must have lived.

  Danny was still talking, engrossed in his story.

  ‘I left as soon as I could, when I was eighteen and went off to university. But even then,

  even though I was big and strong enough by then to fight back, to defend my mother against

  him too, I still didn’t do it. I couldn’t bring myself to. It was as if after a lifetime of it, he had

  this … this hold, over both of us. We never fought back, we never told. Well, except Quinn.’

  He paused for a moment, rubbing a hand across his face.

  ‘He didn’t know all of it, not how constant it was, how bad it was, not back in those days.

  He knows more now. But he walked in one day, came round unexpectedly, when Dad was

  laying into Mum, and I’ll never forget his face, Gemma. I’ll never forget how shocked he was

  when he saw the blood, saw how viciously Dad was punching her. Dad didn’t know he was

  there, which was probably lucky for him, and I begged him not to tell anyone, told him Dad

  would kill him and us if he did. And so he kept the secret. He’s had my back ever since we

  were kids, that lad. I looked after him too, you know? He probably wouldn’t be here today if it

  wasn’t for me, but that’s a story for another day. But he’d do anything for me, Quinn. Always

  would. Still would.’

  I know that story, I thought. And that’s why Quinn lied through his teeth to the police

  about me. You saved his life, and he’d have done anything to protect you.

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  The bitterness was back. Why was he telling me all this? Yes, it was awful, horrendous.

  But all this was in the past. He’d moved on, made a new life for himself in London. What did

  this have to do with anything now?

  ‘And so he kept the secret too, as I said.’ Danny was saying. ‘We all kept the secret. I’d

  got so used to hiding it, as a kid, it became second nature. And when I grew up, and moved

  over here, there didn’t seem any point in telling anyone about it at all, so I never did. Except it

  was still there, inside, you know? A lot of the time I could forget about it, but it never really

  goes away, something like that. And I suppose it … it festered. The knowledge that I could

  have done something to stop him, and I didn’t … as the years passed, I began to hate myself

  for that. And I mean really, really hate myself. So much so that it started to … to consume me,

  Gemma. I thought about it all the time, the shame, the guilt … even if I’d let him do that to me,

  why had I let him do it to her, to my mother? Why didn’t I protect her, when I was old enough

  to fight him back? Was I that much of a coward? I was, and she knew it too. She knew I was a

  coward, and she hated me for it as well. She still hates me. She’s never forgiven me for the way

  I let her down.’

  I thought back to how Bridget had reacted to Danny’s disappearance, how disinterested

  she’d seemed, and then to how she’d been with him on our visit; his pathetic eagerness to please

  his mother, and the coldness of her response. He was right, she’d never forgiven him, I thought,

  and my heart, already rent in two, shattered a little bit more for both of them, these two broken

  people, who needed each other so desperately but, for whatever reason, couldn’t find a way to

  help each other through their living hell.

  ‘I was always told I was the spitting image of my father,’ Danny was saying. ‘Even you

  said that, when you met him, remember?’

  I gave a small nod, remembering. Donal had indeed been an older, greyer-haired version

  of Danny.

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  ‘But that used to make me feel sick, when people said that. I’d think: “No. NO! I’m

  nothing like him, I’m nothing like that bastard”. And then … then, Gemma, I started to realize

  that I was. I was like him.’

  I stared at him.

  ‘What do you mean?’ Danny had never been violent. I couldn’t even imagine him hitting

  a woman, or anyone come to that.

  ‘Not the violence,’ he said, as if reading my mind. ‘But … the other stuff. The women,

  the shagging around. Even from the first time I found myself a girlfriend, I couldn’t settle for

  more than a couple of weeks. Always looking, always on the prowl for the next one. And I

  knew I’d got that from him, Gemma. I was like him, and I hated him for that, so much. But I

  hated myself more. And then … well, then I met you, and I thought, finally. Finally. I loved

  you, Gemma, and I knew you loved me, and I thought, this is it, this one’s different. This one,

  I’m going to marry, and I’m never going to stray, and I won’t be like him, not anymore. It’s

  over, and I’m going to win.’

  He banged a fist on the table again, hard, and something flashed in his eyes, and as if in

  response I felt a hot spark of anger.

  ‘Except you didn’t, did you? You didn’t win, Danny. Because you carried on, didn’t you?

  You married me, but you still carried on. You even joined a dating website when you were

  married to me, for fuck’s sake.’

  His eyes met mine, and his shoulders slumped.

  ‘I know,’ he whispered. ‘I tried. I tried so bloody hard. But it was like a sickness, Gemma.

  An addiction. Out of my control. I just couldn’t do it. It was only now and again, after we got

  married, I promise, only the very odd time. But I couldn’t … I just couldn’t stop. And I’m so,

  so sorry about that. You’ll never know how sorry I am.’

  I exhaled heavily, shaking my head. What did any of it matter now?

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  ‘Look, why are you telling me all this? What does any of it have to do—?’

  He held up a hand.

  ‘Please. I’m nearly there.
You’ll understand when I … anyway, as the time passed I got

  more and more angry. The hatred, for him and for myself, for what he’d made me … it was

  like a living thing, Gem. It was eating me alive. All I could think of was why didn’t I do

  something, why didn’t I stop him? I even dreamed about him, dreamed about going back to

  Ireland and finally doing what I should have done all those years ago, finally giving him the

  punishment he deserved. And then … and then …’

  He swallowed, his eyes fixed on the table in front of him.

  ‘And then he died. And it was too late.’

  There was a long silence. I stood watching him, waiting, and unexpectedly, I felt a little

  surge of guilt. My husband had been in so much pain, so much torment. How had I not known,

  how had I not noticed? All of those times, after Donal died, when Danny would go off on his

  own, disappear for hours. It was so much worse than I had thought, grief of a totally different

  kind, I suddenly realized. Not grief because he loved his father, grief because he hated him.

  Grief because he despised the man so much, and wanted revenge, and grief because he’d lost

  the chance, forever. If only I’d known, if only I’d realized back then, maybe I could have helped

  him, maybe we could have avoided …

  ‘And then one day, something weird happened.’

  He was talking again.

  ‘Something so feckin’ weird, Gemma, that it seemed like fate, seemed like it was meant

  to happen. I’d just joined that dating site, Elite Hook Ups … I know, I know, and again, I’m

  so, so sorry. Anyway, I was flicking through profiles, trying to work out what to write for mine.

  And then I saw him.’

  He paused again, looked at me, looked away.

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  ‘Saw who?’

  ‘I saw a man who looked like Dad. Who looked just like him, when he was younger, when

  he was my age, when he was hitting us and beating us and whoring …’

  His eyes had narrowed, his voice low and angry now.

  ‘… and suddenly, it was as if the sun had finally come out, and I knew what to do. I knew

  what I had to do, to make it all better. To make it all go away, finally. To heal myself. Except,

  of course …’

  A small laugh, bitter and hoarse.

  ‘Except, ironically, that’s when it all started to go wrong.’