Dark road home, p.23
Dark Road Home, page 23
There’s a loud clanging noise as the prison guard unlocks the metal door in front of Tom and leads him, along with the other visitors, into a bright room with yellow painted walls and rows of tables.
As the men and women around him surge forward to greet their friends and loved ones, Tom stays where he is. He has already spotted Frank, sitting alone at a table with his arms folded across his chest. But Tom needs a moment, first, to steady himself. When he’s as ready as he’ll ever be, he walks over to Frank’s table.
‘Tom.’ Frank stands and nods, but doesn’t offer his hand and Tom is grateful for this. He couldn’t touch it, knowing it might be the very hand that killed his son.
‘Thanks for agreeing to see me,’ Tom says.
‘I was curious.’ Frank sits back down, gestures for Tom to sit too. ‘Wanted to hear what you have to say to me.’
He shouldn’t have come. He’d thought he could handle it, but he was wrong. Seeing Frank like this – hunched over and scared looking, his skin grey and his hair unkempt – triggers all sorts of feelings Tom doesn’t want to have to deal with. Regret and sadness and, the one that’s always with him, guilt.
Over the years, he has watched – along with the rest of the town – the gradual demise of this man sitting opposite him. He’s seen how the sheer weight of what Frank’s had to deal with has diminished him. Years of caring for his mother, giving up his hopes and dreams, have chipped away at the essence of who Frank Ryan once was.
Tom had told himself that he was coming today to force some sort of confession out of Frank. But now he’s here, sitting opposite the man, it’s not a confession Tom is looking for. It’s forgiveness, something he can never have because to receive it he would first have to tell Frank what he’d done. And that is something he’s promised never to do.
‘What is it you want, Tom?’
‘I want the truth about my son’s murder.’
‘I didn’t do it. On my mother’s life, I didn’t kill Eamon. It wasn’t me.’
‘I know.’ Tom pushes his chair back and stands up. He needs to get out of here, out of this oppressive place that smells of disinfectant and sweat. Away from Frank Ryan’s ruined face, and back outside where he can breathe in fresh air that’s not tainted with the stink of evil.
‘Tom, wait.’
He pretends he hasn’t heard, because if he turns back he might blurt it all out. Tell Frank that it’s Tom who deserves to be locked away in this terrible place, not poor Frank, who’s only ever tried to do what’s right. Because unlike Tom, Frank is a good man.
Somehow, he makes it outside into the warm sunshine. As he walks to his car, his mind is filled with a single image that blocks out everything else: a man’s dead body, a bloodied knife and the black mascara tears running down Isabelle’s face.
He knows who killed Eamon. Some part of him has always known, although he’s done his very best not to believe it. Because he is a weak and selfish man, who would rather see an innocent man spend the rest of his life in prison than lose the only woman he’s ever truly loved.
Chapter 57
Before
Frank sat at the kitchen table, sipping lukewarm tea from a mug. Tea was the last thing he felt like, but if he opened a bottle of wine he wouldn’t stop drinking until it was empty and he needed a clear head for the conversation he was about to have.
It was two months today since his sister had lost control of her car and driven it into a wall. By some miracle, none of the three passengers had been killed in the collision that had rendered Leah’s car a write-off. Eamon had spent the first month in hospital, but he was back home now. He would require extensive physiotherapy and would probably always walk with a limp. Which wasn’t great but, given the doctors had thought at first the leg would need to be amputated, it could have been a lot worse.
Ever since the accident, Leah had been on a course of self-destruction. It was clear to Frank that his sister was hurting emotionally, and he felt woefully inadequate to deal with what she was going through. But he would have to try. Which was why he was drinking tea tonight, instead of burying his own pain inside a bottle of wine like he did most evenings.
Leah was eighteen now. She had finished her Leaving Cert a few weeks before the accident. Her results had come out yesterday, but Frank had no clue how she’d got on because he hadn’t seen her since yesterday morning.
She’d sent him a text message earlier today, telling him she’d be home at some point this evening. When he’d replied, asking her to be a bit more specific, she said she’d be home by seven at the latest. It was eight thirty now, and there was no sign of her.
When nine thirty came around, and Leah still hadn’t come home or answered her phone, he cracked and opened a bottle of wine. By the time she finally showed up, it was close to midnight. Frank had finished the first bottle and was midway through a second.
The tiny part of his brain that remained rational knew it was a very bad time to have this conversation, but that wasn’t going to stop him. Because by now, he was angry. She had become so utterly selfish and self-absorbed, so wrapped up in her own bubble of misery, that she never gave a second thought to anyone else, and Frank had had enough.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ he growled, as she appeared in the doorway of the sitting room. It was clear, from the way she was swaying, that she’d been drinking. And although he was more than half-cut himself, seeing her in that state further enraged him.
‘I was out,’ she said, slurring so badly he could barely make out the words. ‘Whaz it to you, anyway?’
‘How did you get on?’ he asked. ‘With your results?’
She looked confused for a moment, then started to laugh like he’d said something funny.
‘For fuck’s sake, Leah. Tell me how you did. We need to start making plans for your future.’
‘What future? Don’t you get it, Frank? There’s no future for either of us. I know what you’re planning. You think you can send me off to college, give me a few years of freedom and then I’ll come back like a good little girl and take over here so you can get on with your life.’
‘And what’s wrong with that?’
‘It’s bullshit, that’s what’s wrong with it.’
‘So, you think it’s okay for me to sacrifice everything but not you? Is that it?’
‘It was your choice to come back. I never asked you to do that.’
He pushed his chair back, knocking into the table and causing the wine glass to topple over.
‘How fucking dare you? I came back because you needed me. You both did. You were only a child, Leah. Fifteen years old. I wanted you to be able to finish school, get some qualifications and have a life. I did all of that for you, and this is how you thank me?’
‘You wasted your time,’ she spat. ‘Because I flunked the Leaving. I didn’t get any of the results I need to get into college so your big plan has backfired. And you know what? If I hadn’t had to put up with your shit, watching you drinking yourself half to death every night and muttering to yourself all the time and acting like I owe you something, maybe I’d have done better. But I didn’t. I fucked up and now I don’t know what I’m going to do. But if you think for one second I’m going to stick around here while you piss off back to England, you can think again.’
‘You’re not a good person, Leah. Do you know that? I’ve been trying to defend the things Isabelle Colbert’s been saying about you, but I’m not going to do that any longer because they’re all true.’
The next morning, and all the ones after that, he would think back on what he did next and wonder how the rest of his life would have turned out if he’d acted differently. But he was drunk and angry and he wasn’t thinking about anything except getting her to shut up. So he lifted the half-empty wine bottle and threw it, with every bit of strength he had, straight at her.
She ducked, but wasn’t quite fast enough. The bottle glanced off the side of her head before smashing into the frame of the door behind her. They stood, frozen for a moment, staring at each other as the tinkle of breaking glass gradually faded away.
She put her hand to her forehead, where the bottle had cut it.
‘Jesus, Frank.’ She looked at the blood on her hand, then up at him, and he couldn’t bear to see the hurt and pain in her eyes. So he turned his back on her.
‘I want you gone in the morning,’ he said. ‘Go, and don’t come back, Leah. I never want to see you again, and nor does anyone else in this town. We’d all be better off without you.’
He knew, as he spoke, that she’d do it. Because he knew her, and knew how stubborn she was. Later, he would try to kid himself he’d said it for her sake. He’d given her the escape she needed. But that wasn’t true. He’d said those things that night because he was hurt and angry and confused. Just like she was.
When people are hurting, they do and say things they don’t mean. By the time the hurt has eased and they wish they could take back the things they’d said and done, it’s too late. Always too late.
Chapter 58
Saturday, 27 July
Leah is up early the following morning, showered and dressed and waiting impatiently for Bríd, who agreed yesterday evening with a lot of persuasion from Leah to spend a few hours with Mam this morning.
‘Thank you so much for this,’ Leah says, when Bríd arrives. ‘I really appreciate it.’
‘Wherever you’re going,’ Bríd says, ‘it better be worth dragging me out of bed at this godforsaken hour. And you’d better not be long, Leah. I’ve got a tonne of packing to do today.’
‘I’ll be as quick as I can, I promise.’ Leah surprises them both then by leaning in and kissing Bríd’s cheek.
‘You’re not doing anything dangerous are you, Leah?’
‘Of course not. There’s someone I need to see and this is the only time they’re able to meet. That’s all, Bríd. I swear.’
‘Be careful, won’t you?’
‘Careful’s my middle name.’ Leah forces herself to smile, and leaves before Bríd can say anything else.
It’s an overcast morning and daylight takes longer than normal to push its way across the stubborn night sky. When Leah arrives at the entrance to the nature reserve forty minutes later, the sky is barely any brighter than when she left.
She is half an hour early for her seven o’clock meeting with Jim. The gates to the car park are locked, and a sign informs Leah they won’t open until eight a.m. Just as well she got here early, she thinks, as she parks on the road and walks back to the entrance.
A long, winding path leads from the road to the car park where she’s meant to be meeting Jim. Leah has vague memories of visiting these woods as a child. Her mother used to bring Frank and Leah here for walks when they were little, before they grew older and decided that spending their Sunday afternoons in a nature reserve was low down their list of fun things to do.
This time of the morning, the place is deserted. The further along the path Leah walks, the more nervous she becomes. She’s tried convincing herself that Jim isn’t planning to hurt her. They both want the same thing, after all: to uncover the truth about what happened the night Leah’s mother was run over. But believing this is based on the assumption Jim is a rational person, which he clearly is not.
Glancing around, to make sure no one’s watching her, Leah takes her phone out of the inside pocket of her jacket and checks the time. She still has twenty minutes. She can see the car park up ahead, but instead of walking towards it, she ducks off the path and hides in amongst the trees because she doesn’t want to be the first to arrive at the meeting point.
As quietly as she can, she walks through the undergrowth until she’s close enough to get a clear view of the car park. The twenty minutes drag by while she waits for Jim. Seven o’clock arrives and there’s still no sign of him. Ten more minutes pass, and Leah’s starting to think he’s not going to show, when she hears the crunch of footsteps from somewhere behind her.
She stays stock still, pressed against the trunk of a thick tree, terrified to move or breathe in case she’s seen. She peers through the gaps in the leaves and branches, trying to see him, but she can only hear him: the slow tread of his footsteps and the loud, laboured sound of his breathing.
When he finally appears around a curve in the path, she lets out a gasp of surprise. She presses her hand over her mouth, but not in time to silence the sound.
‘Hello?’ The figure on the path stops, stares through the trees towards where Leah is hiding. Keeping her hand over her mouth, she stays as quiet as she can.
‘Is someone there?’
When she doesn’t answer, he starts walking again. As she watches him go, Leah tries to work out what he’s doing here. She assumed this meeting would be with Jim. So why is Tom Lonergan here?
Chapter 59
Aisling doesn’t know what time it is when Jim shows up, but it’s early; it’s still dark outside as he pushes open the door and steps into the shed.
‘I’ve brought you some more water,’ he says, moving towards her to place a plastic bottle on the ground by the bed.
She gets up as quickly as her stiff, pregnant body will allow and steps away from the bed, keeping her eyes on Jim the entire time.
‘You can’t keep me here until the baby’s born,’ she says. ‘You’re going to have to let me out. I’ve got an appointment with the midwife next week.’
‘You don’t need any of that nonsense,’ he says. ‘You’ve had a perfectly healthy pregnancy so far. There’s no need to worry about something going wrong at this stage.’
She wants to ask him if he expects her to give birth in this shed, but she’s too scared to hear his answer.
‘Drink your water,’ he says, nodding at the bottle. ‘I’ll be back later with some food.’
‘Wait.’ She hates him with every fibre of her being, but it’s better when he’s here than when she’s alone with nothing but her thoughts for company. ‘Please. Won’t you stay for a bit? I’ve missed you, Jim.’
It’s the wrong thing to say. Before she knows what’s happening, he has lunged forward and grabbed her by the neck and shoved her against the rough wooden wall.
‘Don’t lie to me. You haven’t missed me, because you don’t care about me. The only person you care about is yourself. I went to visit your friend Danny, by the way. The man’s a piece of shit, Aisling. I can’t believe you would betray me with someone like that.’
His hand around her throat is choking her. She can’t breathe. Panicked, she tries to pull his fingers away, but he’s too strong. Dots of black dance in front of her eyes. He’s going to kill her. As this thought comes to her, the door behind him creaks in the wind and she realises it’s unlocked.
Using every last bit of strength she’s got, she lifts her right foot and kicks him in the shin. It’s not hard enough to hurt him, but the shock causes him to momentarily loosen his hold on her neck. She kicks again, harder this time. At the same time, she grabs one of his index fingers and pulls it back as hard and fast as she can. There’s a loud crack, as the bone breaks, and he screams as he staggers back.
Knowing this is her only chance, she shoves past him and races towards the open door. Outside, there’s no time to get her bearings or work out which way to go. All she can do is run, try to put as much distance between herself and that godawful shed as possible.
She runs blind, branches slapping across her face, bits of undergrowth snagging in the material of her cotton dress. Staying off the path, she pushes herself deeper into the dank darkness of the woodland. The further she runs, the harder it is to keep going. Her lungs are screaming for air, and the effort it takes to push through the thick mass of brambles and branches and trees and leaves quickly becomes too much.
When she can’t go any further, when the way forward is completely blocked off, she stops running. A burst of vomit rises up her throat, and she bends over, spitting the bile onto the dead leaves that have covered every inch of the ground here. Her whole body is shaking. If Jim comes this way, she won’t be able to get away from him.
She can hear him shouting her name. His voice sounds far away but he won’t stop until he’s found her. Her stomach contracts again, but she doesn’t get sick this time. She stays doubled over, hands on her knees, waiting for her heart to stop racing and her breath to come back.
She waits for the worst of the nausea to pass, then straightens up and looks around, searching for a way through the woodland. But there’s no way through it. Which means she’ll have to go back. She turns slowly, trying to move as silently as she can in case he’s nearby. Then she hears him shouting her name again. He’s further away this time, and she feels the first flutter of hope.
She dashes forward, once again shoving her way through the dense foliage. She’s almost back at the path when she hears her name again. She pauses, because it didn’t sound like Jim that time. It sounded like… but surely it can’t be. Then she hears him again and she’d recognise that voice anywhere. It’s her father. He’s here in the woods, calling her name. Her spirits soar as she races towards him.
‘Dad!’
She’s getting closer, already imagining his arms wrapping around her and holding her. And she can see him now, standing in a clearing up ahead. So close.
Out of nowhere, a hand is clamped across her face and an arm wraps itself around her and she’s dragged backwards.
She tries to scream and fight but she has no strength left, and there is nothing she can do as her father continues to call her name, his voice fading until eventually she can’t hear him at all.
Chapter 60
The walk to the car park is longer than Tom anticipated. By the time he sees it up ahead, his legs are trembling and the soles of his feet are throbbing. It’s a stark reminder of how much he’s aged. There was a time, years ago, although it feels more recent than that, when Tom was a serious long-distance runner. He has taken part in marathons around the world. Boston, London, New York and Madrid. It’s depressing to realise that these days he can barely manage a short walk without his body giving up on him.
