There was one moment within the trial that helped bridge the coincidence theory somewhat though. Li never took the stand during the trial; a position most defendants take when faced with a rape charge. It’s just too risky for them to put themselves in the position of being pelted with questions from the prosecution who are obviously intent on trying to trip them up. In Ireland – unlike most other European countries – juries are instructed that they must not draw any inference whatsoever about a defendant’s decision not to take the stand. Despite this, Jason and Zach argued against the wishes of their defence team, both opting to give evidence. They wanted to put their side of the story across to the jury. During their time on the stand, the prosecution asked them both if they had told Sabrina they were going to Copper Face Jacks. Both admitted they hadn’t. It meant the ‘coincidence’ argument could not be ruled out entirely. After all, if Sabrina didn’t know where the three men were going when they left the Hairy Lemon, and she couldn’t possibly have seen them entering — given her location at the time — then how could she have followed them in there?
‘It’s true that Sabrina couldn’t have seen them entering Copper Face Jacks, right?’ Number One says pointing to the screen again. It was a rhetorical question. He knew the answer. Everybody did. ‘Because we know she was on the other side of Iveagh Gardens when they went in. So either she knew they were going in there, or – as she puts it – it was merely a coincidence that they all ended up in the same club.’
‘Do you reckon Li told her where they were going?’ asks Number Seven.
‘You’d think if he did tell her, then he would have taken the stand to confirm this,’ answers Number Twelve, sitting back in his chair and combing his fingers through his thinning hair in frustration. ‘Listen, I know I’m in the not guilty camp and have made my feelings on this known. But just everybody for one second… look at the evidence here. We have to admit that it looks very likely she somehow caught wind that the men were in Coppers and she followed them in there. We can’t know for certain, but the CCTV footage at the very least paints a picture of a woman who seems a bit on edge. She walks around in circles for twenty minutes before going inside the club. This doesn’t look good for her. I’m as certain as I can be, without full knowledge, that she followed them in there. I know it doesn’t suit my overall verdict, but I believe Sabrina Doyle is lying in this instance.’
20:40
Zach
I turn around, notice a gaggle of birds walking past the entrance of Copper Face Jacks and hand them the bottle of champers.
‘Copper Face Jacks mutha fuckers!’ I scream out as I pass the bouncer and head in to the club. Fuck you, dude. I’m with Jason Kenny.
You have to readjust your eyes when you walk into Coppers, even this early in the night. The place is only open a few minutes but it’s always dark; the low ceilings and lack of windows giving it a bit of a claustrophobic feel.
It’s not packed – not yet anyway – but there must be a fifty or sixty people in here already. I kinda love Coppers. It’s cheesy as fuck, but everyone always has a good time in this place.
It has the reputation of being the place to go if you wanna cop off with someone. Ye normally get birds from down the sticks coming up to Dublin just for a night in Coppers — in the hope that they can snare some bloke from the capital. And I’ve been that Dublin bloke for a load of those birds. I’m happy to do my bit. Give them what they want. I’ll certainly be happy to do that tonight. I’m dyin’ for me hole. I mean, I can get it off Tina whenever I want, but it’s just not the same, is it? Having sex with someone who’s supposed to have sex with you just isn’t sexy at all. Having to talk someone into sex, filling them with the bullshit that will help dampen their panties… now that’s a proper fuckin’ turn on.
I take every face in as I head towards the bar. I haven’t seen the perfect girl — not yet. But it’s early. The night is young. I turn around, find the other two are yards behind me. I don’t know what takes them so long. They’re always chatting, always in each other’s ears. I’ve often wondered if they discuss The Secret behind my back. They probably assume I’m the strongest out of the three of us, that I’ve handled it all fine. But I do think about it — every now and then. Especially when I’m lying in bed, unable to sleep. The pictures of Caitlin Tyrell that I saw in the newspapers all those years ago can sometimes talk to me. She sometimes calls out in pain.
I thought Li got over it all pretty quickly to be honest. Especially as he was the one who was driving. I often think it’s just his secret and that me and Jason are helping him keep it from everyone else. But I’d do anything for Jason and for Li. I’m never envious of them. People think I got pissed off with Jason because he became a pro and I didn’t, but that’s bullshit.
He knocked on my door one Wednesday morning slightly earlier than normal before we headed off to school. Told me he had something important to tell me. I was surprised he had agreed to go to Everton. I tried to talk him into waiting until Man United or Liverpool came knocking, but I couldn’t blame him. Course I couldn’t. I probably would have jumped on that deal myself if it came my way.
Me and Li had just finished our Leaving Cert a few months before Jason made his first-team debut. Li had already made up his mind, years ago. He wanted to study marketing at Rathmines College. I really didn’t have any plans… well aside from turning pro. But, as I was approaching eighteen, I knew that wasn’t going to happen for me. I even trialled for a couple of League of Ireland clubs. Both St Patrick’s Athletic and Shelbourne agreed to let me train with them, but neither offered me a contract. By the time I trialled for them my heart had already decided it wasn’t in the game anymore, though. My passion for the sport had gone, even if my ability hadn’t.
I didn’t know what to do with my life after school. I thought about following my brothers to different corners of the world, but I didn’t wanna miss out on Jason’s journey. I wanted to be with him as he made a name for himself.
He didn’t want me living in England with him, though — felt it would be a distraction for him to have me or Li with him all the time. That pissed me off a little, especially after all I’d done for Jason over the years. But I could kinda understand it. When it comes to football, Jason has total dedication, total discipline. He even had that when he was ten years old playing for the Bosco.
I tried a couple of different jobs. I worked in a paint factory in Walkinstown for a few months before getting bored. Then I tried my hand at a bit of security, but that was a load of me bollocks. I left that one after ten days. I’d spend most of my time in the local pubs, spending whatever money I could cobble together on pints of Heineken. It didn’t take long for me to give in to everything I had been warned to steer clear of from the time we were in school. The Drimnagh gangs are notorious around Ireland – everyone knows about them because they’re plastered on the front pages of the Sunday tabloids every other week. I was determined not to get involved. I wanted to prove to everyone who thought I’d easily get tangled up in the gangs that I was stronger than they thought I was. But I couldn’t help it.
It wasn’t just the money that attracted me to working for Alan Keating. It was the fact that I actually had somethin’ to do — a reason to get out of bed in the mornings.
‘Shots, shots, shots,’ I chant as Li and Zach finally catch up with me at the bar.
‘Not fuckin’ tequila,’ Jason moans as he reaches for his wallet.
‘What then?’
‘Get those Baby Guinness things,’ he says, ‘they’re not so harsh.’
‘Three Baby Guinness,’ I shout to the barman. It sounds like such a shite name for a shot. Shots are supposed to be a proper drink, a drink for grown ups. They shouldn’t have the name ‘baby’ in them at all. It sounds like a pussy’s drink. But I have to agree with Jason – they do travel down the throat well.
‘Okay boys,’ Jason calls out as the barman places the three shots in front of us. ‘Let’s get the night truly started. Are w
e ready?’
Jason hovers his debit card over the reader until it beeps, places it back in his wallet, then hands each of us a tiny shot glass.
‘One, two three… go.’
We throw the shot into our mouths, crease our face up at the taste of Sambuca hitting the back of our throats. Then we begin to nod our heads to the beat of the music and shuffle towards the dance floor.
20:45
Sabrina
I lean against a lamppost, scrolling through my phone and glancing up at the entrance to the kebab shop every twenty-seconds or so. It’s starting to get cold. I should have brought a light jacket to go over the jumpsuit.
I tug at the V again, not because I’m wary of one of my breasts falling out, but because goosebumps are popping up right through my cleavage. I take a look at the digits on the top of my screen. 20:45. The night is young. People are buzzing around town; some arguing over what bar they should go to next. I spot a couple outside Break For The Border snuggling into each other. It makes me think of Jason Kenny, not that he’s been far from my mind over the past hour anyway. I click into the internet browser on my phone and type his name into Google. Jaysus, he looked a lot more handsome tonight than he does when he’s on the pitch. He actually looks alright in half of the photos on Google, not so cute in the other half. It seems to me as if he’s grown into himself, has grown into his looks as he’s aged. Ginger guys do tend to get more handsome the older they get. His hair is less orange in the more recent pics, more a dark shade of auburn. Plus, the beard he has now is brown — it offsets the ginger. I like him. A lot. Such a shame I rushed back inside when I got the text message from Lorna. I don’t normally have much to get excited about; hooking up with a celeb is certainly a good night out for me. Getting his phone number and meeting up with him for a date would have been even better.
I click into his Wikipedia page, try to work out how big a deal he is. He’s played for both Everton and Sunderland. Whatever that means. I’ve heard of both teams at least, so it can’t be that bad. He’s made four hundred and ten appearances for Everton, two hundred and eighty-eight for Sunderland. Has sixty-two Ireland caps. But only scored three goals. Maybe he’s not that good. He grew up in Drimnagh, was born in 1983. He’s exactly ten years older than me. It even mentions here that he is a devout Christian. It’s the only blemish I can find. That and the fact that if we had kids together, they could end up with orange hair.
As I’m scrolling through his page, I look up again, to the entrance of the Kebab shop. They’re coming out, both holding a plastic bowl filled with chips. They turn left, on to Aungier Street. I place my phone back into my bag and follow. Slowly. I don’t want them to notice me. I’ll have to stay a distance behind them because I stick out like a sore thumb in this bloody white suit. I guess it wasn’t a good choice for loads of different reasons.
As I turn on to Aungier Street I notice a picture of Nadia Forde smiling back at me. She’s lovely, Nadia. Has done so well for herself. But I often wonder what made her stand out over me. She seemed to be the model who landed most of the jobs I auditioned for.
I never really gave up modelling. I guess it gave me up. Anne always held out hope that things would pick up for me, but she used to send me for cheap marketing jobs just so I could earn some money. The jobs were petty tacky. I’d stand at food festivals or car festivals and hand out fliers for about eight hours a day. Or worse, I’d have to wear some poxy fancy-dress costume to interact with kids. I don’t mind kids, hope to have three myself one day. But the job of having to pretend to be happy and upbeat for eight hours consecutively was a serious stretch for me.
By the time I turned twenty-one, marketing was pretty much my full-time job. Anne called me into her office one day, said she had to let me go from her books; that I was wasting my money handing her over fifteen per cent for shit marketing jobs I could easily get for myself without her help. I thanked her profusely for all she had done for me over the few years I was with her. Made her promise once again that the nude photos I did with Patrick Clavin would never see the light of day. I knew they wouldn’t. I regretted doing that shoot as soon as it was over. Even though Patrick was lovely and even though I trusted Anne implicitly, I was hugely uncomfortable that those images existed somewhere.
I stay about a hundred yards behind the two of them, stopping anytime they slow down. I’ve no idea where they’re off to. Hopefully they’re heading home. But I know for a fact that they landed in the Hairy Lemon about an hour ago and had two pints with me. They can’t be calling it a night. They must be off somewhere else. Lorna told me I didn’t have enough information on Niall Stevens yet; that I must get some concrete evidence one way or the other for the job to conclude. It’s not the first time she’s made me do this. It’s the main aim of the job. I know I haven’t nailed it; not yet anyway. Just because Niall mentioned his fiancée to me a couple of times doesn’t mean much. I haven’t justified the money Lorna is paying me. But I will. I’ll give her the information she needs as soon as Niall and his mate decide where they’re going next.
They turn on to Harcourt Street, my old territory. It’s where Eddie used to bring me all the time. He was obsessed with this area of town. In fact, we met there; in the beer garden of Diceys. I do some calculations in my head. That would have been four years ago last month. Jaysus. Time does fly, even when you’re not having fun.
Niall and his mate walk past Diceys and I immediately know where they’re heading for. I cross over to the other side of the street and watch as the bouncer stops them for a quick chat before allowing them in.
Fucking Copper Face Jacks. Typical. It must be a couple of years since I’ve last been in there. I bet it hasn’t changed. But I can’t follow them straight in. That would look too suspicious. So I take a walk, decide I’ll do a few laps of Iveagh Gardens and give it about fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before I pop in. Then I’ll get the job done. At this rate I could be in bed before ten o’clock tonight. Perfect!
20:55
Li
Zach’s the only one with natural rhythm out of the three of us. But it never really stops any of us. We take to the dance floor every time we’re out — throwing shapes, most likely off beat. Well, I certainly do. I’ve never been able to dance. Never know what to do, other than flail my arms and stomp my feet. Jason has some moves, but most of the time he looks pretty awkward. We don’t give a shit though. Once Jason’s on a dance floor, the sharks circle. Suddenly there are dozens of people around us. Celebs are a DJ’s dream. They get the party started.
I like Coppers. Always have fun when I’m here; not that I’m here that often anymore. Not since I met Niamh. Not because she doesn’t like me to go out, but because I’d genuinely rather stay in. Throwing back shots and downing pints of beer just doesn’t seem like an ideal way to spend a night anymore. That’s what you’re supposed to do in your twenties, not your thirties. I should be curled up on a sofa watching Netflix with Niamh, having an early night so we can go to Homebase with fresh heads in the morning. That’s the stage of life I’m at right now. And I’m happy with it. Very happy with it.
I stare over at Zach, watch him body pop and assume the life I live would be hell on earth for him. He’s the same age as Jason and me, but he doesn’t agree that you have to slow the social life down as you get older. He’s just as hungry for it now as he was when we were twenty-one. I doubt he’s ever been to Homebase. Certainly not with Tina. He doesn’t go anywhere with his wife. I very rarely see them together. They met when they were eighteen, both still immature. I’m sure that immaturity still lives in their relationship. They can’t shake off the mentality they had with each other when they first met. I know Tina can’t be that easy to live with, but she deserves better than Zach. He treats her like shit. I was thirty-two when I first met Niamh, she had just turned thirty. We were both mature, both knew what we wanted in life by the time we hooked up. That’s why our relationship works.
I was scrolling through Tinder one evening, a
s was becoming the norm back then, swiped right when I saw her profile, then kept scrolling, swiping right on other profiles too. But she got back to me within the hour and suddenly we were arranging a date. I probably swiped right on about a hundred profiles on Tinder over the course of six months. Only two ever arranged a date with me. The first girl I met was called Felicity. She didn’t look anything like her profile picture – still, we had a good night out and she promised she’d ring me during the week to arrange a second date. That call never came.
I was genuinely beginning to think I’d never have a girlfriend; felt Irish girls just didn’t fancy the Korean look. But it was never about looks between me and Niamh. I was slightly put off by her weight when we met for that first date, but after about ten minutes I just didn’t give a shit. We were wrapped up in each other’s company, immediately opening up to each other as if we’d been best pals for decades.
A week later, on our third date, we were both muttering those three special words to each other. It just felt right. I did love her. Now I’m totally besotted — not just with her, but with us. We are a great couple. And I love the fact that we’re both each other’s first real partner. We both suffered the same awkwardness through our twenties when it came to trying to find somebody to settle down with. We share so much in common.
At first we were amazed that we liked the same type of music, that we gorged on the same TV box sets. But over the years, we’ve learned that that’s not what ‘having things in common’ is truly about. Our politics align. We’re both huge liberals. Feel the world has to pull together, not drift apart. We were dumbfounded that Donald Trump got into the White House on the promise of building a wall between Mexico and America. And we were even more flabbergasted that the majority of people in the UK felt it was necessary for them to draw a border between their shitty little island and the rest of Europe. I can never understand anyone who thinks the world should separate. Neither does Niamh. And it was through these types of beliefs that helped us fall head over heels with each other. I genuinely don’t know what I would do without her. If I lost her, I think I’d just end it; jump off a bridge or tie a noose around my neck. My life wouldn’t be worth living without her. Which is why I’m going to tie her to me permanently. I can’t wait to open the box, crouch down on one knee and ask her to be my wife. I just need to figure out what I’m going to say. I want it to be super romantic. Maybe Zach’s right. Perhaps getting engaged in Lanzarote is a bit cheesy. Niamh deserves better. I’ll have to think it through; come up with something that will blow her mind.
She Said, Three Said Page 9
