The night i killed him, p.13
The Night I Killed Him, page 13
I was wearing the dress with the cut-outs – it was raspberry-coloured with black zebra stripes and these two big cut-out circles at the waist. And it was a Lanzarote warm night, but with that breeze that disguised sound. The breeze that made the sailing so great. And so, when he grasped my face and kissed me and his tongue stabbed mine like an angry creature, I tried to relax my jaw, to breathe evenly, though a part of me was frightened. I’d expected butterfly kisses alighting on my face, skimming my collarbones and the top of my breasts.
And I’d pushed him off – very gently, because even then I knew how angry Conleth could get, and how quickly.
‘Don’t you dare,’ he said. ‘You’re not getting away that easy.’ And the lights from the party in the distance glowed in his pupils and he pushed me down on to the sand and his hands roved over me like minesweepers. Into the cut-outs of the dress and under my bra, squeezing and scrabbling over my skin, and I tried not to push him away, but he was scaring me.
‘Oh, for Christ’s sake,’ he said. And he flipped me over, shoving me on to my face in the sand, and it was as though his rage was a living thing and I was being punished for something I didn’t know I’d done. Beach stones pressed into my hip bones and I couldn’t understand that people did this and called it beautiful. And I felt broken and dirty and sullied.
‘You’ll get better at it,’ he said afterwards.
And soon I learned how to please him – and I didn’t dare displease him. If I stepped out of line, if I was needy or whiny. If I looked for more – more affection, more time, just more – he shut down. Or he said cruel things. One time, in the treehouse, he pulled away from me in disgust, telling me he couldn’t go through with it because I stank. I gargled with saltwater and mouthwash for weeks. Another time he studied me in the daylight and told me I had acne. From that day I never went out without make-up.
He didn’t contact me for weeks, but when he showed up I dropped everything to be his personal groupie for over two years. Nola and I drifted apart. I don’t even know where she lives now. I heard she became a solicitor. I gave up the drama club and my after-school art classes. I ate nothing. I didn’t study. I made no plans for the future. I existed only for him. There was no Gemma without him. And somehow, my brother became my love rival.
And maybe Dad does remember about the medal, but he says nothing. And I don’t tell him about Conleth. No one ever knew our secret. As far as Mum and Dad were concerned, Conleth and I only got together after Max disappeared. Anything was forgivable by then. No one cared about the five-year age gap – you’re not going to care about something like that when your son has gone missing. If anything, maybe they thought we comforted each other.
The irony.
Dad is completely silent.
‘They should’ve beaten the Austrians,’ I say.
He nods – barely perceptible. But I see it.
TUESDAY
29
Niamh
‘God love her.’ I nod towards the tribe of journalists and onlookers milling on to the road. ‘At the school pick-up, for pity’s sake! Should we clear them?’
We’re parked in an unmarked car on the residential square nearest to the Gaelscoil. We’d been on our way to collect Gemma for interview when we got stuck in this mayhem. Parents and childminders are spread out along the footpath nearest to the entrance, standing in clusters like granola, eyeing up the media. It’s like a bloody cocktail party. Gemma is standing a little way apart, dappled light from the trees gleaming on her blonde hair. She’s beside a short woman with wavy dark hair who has one hand protectively on Gemma’s forearm and the other raised in a kind of ‘stop’ gesture towards a small group of reporters.
‘Hmm, let’s wait a minute. The friend – that must be Penny, do you think? Looks like she has it under control.’
‘Yeah, fair play to her,’ I answer, watching as Penny shoos the reporters away with both hands like they’re a clutch of hens.
As I speak, a ripple of action surges through the waiting crowd in response to the opening of the main school door. Chatting pairs separate and a navy-tracksuited river of three-foot-high children trickles across the yard and up to the tall gate. Teachers stand guard, ensuring the correct pairing of child and minder.
We watch as the kids find their adults. Two sturdy boys with dark blond curls barrel through the others and stake their claim on Penny, who begins admonishing them immediately for the trail of destruction in their wake – a little boy who tripped and another who wanted to join them but wasn’t fast enough.
Ferdia comes out last, struggling with a lopsided schoolbag and the digger toy clutched awkwardly under one arm. It seems to be held together with ragged bits of ribbon. He has a turned-in walk and a way of peering upwards through the glasses as though they’re not strong enough.
‘Ah, God love the little maneen.’ I smile. ‘Jaysus, that’s a tragic sight.’
When he spots his mother, his pace quickens and then he breaks into a trot. The strap of the giant schoolbag dangles around one knee.
‘Christ! Is he wearing the schoolbag?’
Gemma bursts into action and runs to him, catching him just before he falls. She lifts him up, burying her face in his neck and holding him close.
‘There’s your answer,’ says Laura. ‘Needs her fix.’
‘No kidding,’ I say, holding her gaze.
The crowd melts apart quickly and the river is dispersed. Gemma turns back towards Penny, but someone has come between them. I glance at Laura.
‘Where did he appear from?’
Conleth looks like a giant beside Penny, who couldn’t be more than five foot tall. His back is towards Gemma.
By unspoken agreement, Laura and I get out of the car and cross over towards them. Gemma is almost as pale as the hoody she’s wearing. Ferdia is clinging to her leg, looking up at her, begging to be lifted.
I catch the tail end of the exchange between Conleth and Penny, neither of whom has noticed our arrival.
‘So, you’ll give her some space?’ He’s smiling, but something about it sounds like an instruction. Immediately, my radar is pinging. Strange that he’s asking her friend to give her space, not the gang of reporters who are, even now, scrambling to get photos of her. Penny bends to referee between her boys, who are literally chasing around her as though she was a tree. Her face is flushed – even the tip of her ear, which I can see emerging from the curls, is bright red. Anger? Embarrassment?
She straightens.
‘Come on, boys, we’ll see Ferdia another day,’ she says, turning to leave. ‘Bye, Gem.’ She smiles at her friend. ‘Here for whatever you need.’
We’ve obviously just missed something important, but when he turns towards us, Conleth’s expression is pleasant. Jaysus. If he was an ice-cream he’d lick himself.
‘Ladies.’ He smiles. ‘Good timing.’ He turns to Gemma. ‘You head on with the officers, I’ll bring Ferdia home.’
‘Can I come, Mummy?’ whines Ferdia, clinging on to her so tightly his kneecaps whiten. His right hand is buried in a bunch of Gemma’s long hair and, from the left, his knackered digger toy dangles.
‘No, love,’ Gemma soothes, motioning to lift him down. ‘I’ll be back in a little while. You go on home with Daddy.’
The child makes no move to get down. Conleth swoops in and plucks him off Gemma’s hip, holding him high in the air.
‘Come on, Ferdia! Be brave now. We’ll see Mummy in—’
‘Nooo!’ screams Ferdia as the digger tumbles on to the pavement and a wheel falls off.
Conleth sets the child down on the path and takes a firm hold of his hand.
‘I’ll take it from here,’ he says. ‘Call me if you need a lift home.’
30
Niamh
I reckon Laura knows – or suspects. She’s kind of watching me. But now is not the time. We have about an hour to get this done with Gemma and she’s already looking antsy. I busy myself getting the video tape set up while Laura chats to her, trying to put her at ease.
‘Would you like a coffee or anything?’ she says, unpacking her briefcase and putting out her notebook and pens. ‘They have an actual coffee machine here, I believe. Don’t they?’
This is addressed to me.
‘Sure they’d have to, in fairness,’ I quip. ‘We’re practically in Dalkey.’
This lands flat. Not a smile. Nothing.
‘No, thanks,’ Gemma whispers. ‘Just, em, water would be great. I forgot—’
I get her a bottle of water and a paper cup and the second interview gets underway. And it’s like pulling teeth – with nothing new being added. Just the version of Max’s last night, as she had outlined before.
Laura ramps it up a notch.
‘What was it like for you, growing up with such an accomplished older sibling?’ she says, her head tilted in that way she has which signifies how closely she’s listening. Gemma gives a whisper of a shrug of her shoulders. ‘Did people compare you?’
‘I don’t really remember,’ says Gemma, pushing her hair back behind her ear. ‘Not that I recall. I mean, I was in Sancta Teresa’s, you know? The girls’ school in Sandycove. So obviously, that wouldn’t be a problem.’
‘Yes,’ says Laura. ‘But I presume people would have heard of him? I mean, Dún Laoghaire is a small place.’
‘Well, yeah. I suppose. But I didn’t – I mean, I wasn’t involved in the sailing. So, I mean, everyone in the sailing world would know Max, obviously. But I – I hung out with some of the girls. I had a good friend, Nola.’
She looks across at me then back to Laura.
‘Why?’ She’s frowning. Suspicious.
Laura smooths the front of the file before opening it.
‘Nothing – no particular reason,’ she soothes. ‘I’m just trying to get a picture of you as a person, and the family dynamics. The more we know about you and Max – your family and friends – everything helps us, you see? Literally, every fact we find gets us closer to knowing what happened. And you want that, don’t you? You want to find out what happened to Max?’
‘Of course.’ Gemma sighs in frustration. ‘Of course I do.’ She has her hands clasped together on her lap, like the nuns told you to sit. And her thumbs are circling each other, around and around.
‘Good. Good. Okay. And can you think of anyone who might have wished him harm, Gemma?’
‘Of course not.’ She shakes her head. Laura doesn’t add anything. The silence lengthens.
‘That’s the whole point!’ snaps Gemma, a flush appearing high up on her cheekbones. ‘That’s what you’re meant to be finding out.’
‘That’s why I’m asking you,’ says Laura, calmly. ‘I’m starting with you, because he was your brother. So, you of all people might be close enough—’
‘We weren’t close! There was a huge age gap – he’s five years older than me. He – he was away at school and he was away sailing. I—’
‘You’re married to his best friend, who is, presumably, also five years older than you,’ Laura says simply. ‘So, you and Conleth and Max – you must have all been close?’
Laura’s taking a risk, needling her. Sometimes it works as a technique, but other times it can make the witness clam up entirely. But we don’t need to check in with each other to know that it’s having an effect. Gemma swallows. The skin on her neck is so thin you can count three little ridges along her throat.
‘Conleth and I, we only got together after – after Max.’ She takes a deep breath. ‘Conleth was – he was very good to me – to all of us. Mum and Dad too.’
She gives a little nod, and I feel like she’s stepped back from the brink of something.
‘Did you know – did you ever see Max involved in drugs?’ Laura says in a sweet voice, as if asking if he enjoyed tennis.
‘Drugs? What drugs?’
‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ says Laura, opening her folder and running her pen across a paragraph.
‘And I was wondering where you got the banned substance that was found in your possession in’ – she pauses and looks at Gemma – ‘October of 2007. Four months after your brother died.’
Now Laura shrugs and adds a little shake of her head.
‘I just thought there might be a connection?’
Gemma seems to deflate.
‘I was in a bad way,’ she whispers. ‘Yes. Okay. I did drugs for – it was only a short while. I—’
She lifts her head, her eyes brimming with tears.
‘Max hated drugs,’ she says. ‘He’d never— I – I got them from a guy in the town. Not Max. Never Max.’
‘Okay,’ I say, taking over from Laura. Not so much good cop bad cop, as cop other cop. ‘Thank you. So, what can you remember about the last time you saw Max? Tell us again about that night.’
Gemma takes a tissue from her sleeve, expertly pressing it just below her eyelids to catch the tears without smudging the make-up. She’s wearing a pale lilac hoody and track bottoms from that new Irish gym-gear brand. They’re everywhere. Yummy-mummy gear.
Suddenly, a huge sob bursts from her.
‘I was such an idiot,’ she blurts, shaking her head from side to side. ‘I was sixteen. I was drunk. I thought I – I thought I knew it all.’
She blows her nose, her face caving in on itself with grief. ‘If I’d known I was never going to see him again – oh!’
Then her mouth clamps shut, and she swallows. The three ridges doing their up-and-down motion.
‘I got blind drunk,’ she repeats. ‘Even before the speeches and the dancing. I don’t remember – honestly! You expect me to remember? All I know is that I was drunk. I felt sick and I must have gone outside. I – I remember going out through the little half-door. It’s behind the bar. And I was outside when Conleth found me, and he walked me home.’
I don’t make eye contact with Laura, but we both clock that change of story. They’ve clearly discussed this recently. Their stories tally.
‘He – he knew I’d be in trouble if my dad found out. I’m sorry. Christ! How can you expect me to remember after all this time? That night – it was the worst night of my life.’
She balls the tissue and looks for somewhere to put it. Laura passes her the bin.
‘Okay,’ says Laura kindly. ‘Thank you. That’s interesting – and it ties in with what Conleth told us. That he walked you home.’
She looks relieved.
‘Because in your original statement, you said you walked home alone. Did you know that?’
‘Oh, no – I, well, I must have been – I got it wrong. Or maybe—’ She’s speaking faster, like she’s worked out something. ‘That was – I was with my mum that time when I made the statement. I – I probably didn’t want to get in trouble – or get him in trouble.’
‘Because your mum wouldn’t want Conleth to walk you home?’ Laura says, her tone gentle. ‘Is that – I don’t know. It seems strange. Would your mum not have been happy that someone was looking after you? Is there some reason she wouldn’t have wanted you to be alone with Conleth?’
She flushes.
‘No. I mean, yes, if she knew that he was just being nice, it would have been fine, and he was. He just walked me home. But, look, I was sixteen. I’d a bad relationship with her at the time. We were always arguing.’
She stops suddenly, pressing her lips together as an expression of pure pain seeps across her features, moistening her eyes, crumpling that pale skin like a tissue.
‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers. ‘Even now, I miss Mum so much.’
I feel Laura’s eyes on me and I know we’re on the same page. We’ve just witnessed something actually real. In the midst of the shite, that was real.
‘Okay. I’m sure you do. Just a couple of final questions for now. What do you remember from the speeches? Did Max speak?’
She pauses. Nods.
‘Yes, a bit. He did a speech, and he thanked everyone, you know – like, everyone, and Mum and Dad and – and me.’ Another hiccupping sob bursts out. ‘And he – I just remembered – he thanked me for being a great little sister.’
‘And then?’ I probe, needing her to keep at this.
‘Then, I don’t know, there was cheering and clapping and’ – the tears start again – ‘and I hung around a bit. And I – I just felt so bad. I needed air, so I ran outside.’
Laura jots down something, then looks up.
‘So, okay, thank you for that, Gemma. You ran outside. Did Max see you? Can you remember what happened then?’ Laura leans closer, trying to keep eye contact.
‘You’re outside the club, yeah? What can you see?’ I add, but it’s no use. She’s shaking her head, her eyes scrunched shut.
‘I—’ A little sob bursts from her. ‘I never saw him again. I never – never.’
Laura and I exchange a nod without even looking at each other. We’ve pushed that as far as we can.
‘Now,’ Laura says, in a brighter tone. ‘We’re trying to go through some of the items which were recovered. As you know, we have the belt and a cufflink. Does this ring a bell? It all helps, you know. It helps us build a picture.’
She hesitates, glancing at me. And I know she’s wondering about whether or not to show her. Simultaneously, we both give the tiniest of nods. Laura places the photos in front of her. A small tear trickles down Gemma’s cheek as she studies them.
‘Well, the cufflinks were a twenty-first present from Mum and Dad,’ she says in a small voice. ‘Them and the boat – the new 49er was his proper birthday present. That and the party at the club.’ A frown. And something is bubbling up, because the memory stalls her momentarily. Fresh tears build and shimmer.
