The Old House on the Corner (37 page)

The priest sighed. ‘I suppose there’s a chance we’ll never know who did it.’

‘Enda Kelly knows who’s behind it, Father: him and a lot of other men. They’re only waiting for us to leave before they sort him out.’

‘I see.’ The priest nodded and fell silent. ‘I see,’ he said again and there was another silence. ‘The reason I came is that I have some bad news for you, Marie,’ he said eventually.

She laughed bitterly. ‘Things are already bad, they can’t get any worse.’

‘Yes, they can, girl.’ He paused and looked at her pityingly. ‘The men who murdered Mickey are out to get your Patrick too.’

‘Don’t talk daft, Father,’ she said disparagingly. She didn’t give a damn that he was a priest, although his words, said so flatly, sent a chill through her weary bones. ‘Have you been drinking or something? Why should anyone want to kill our Patrick? He’s only sixteen.’

‘Age doesn’t come into it, Marie. They think, these men, that Patrick was mixed up in whatever it was Mickey was involved in.’

‘Mickey wasn’t involved in anything, so how could our Patrick be? It was all a mistake. They killed the wrong man.’

‘We both know that, child,’ the priest said in a soft voice. She could tell he was trying to convey his terrible message in the gentlest possible way. ‘But these are the
sort of men who don’t listen to reason. Now the funeral’s over, everything will go quiet and they’ll strike again.’ He leaned forward and said urgently, ‘They would have got Patrick at the same time as Mickey, except he was upstairs and when you appeared they panicked and ran.’

Marie shivered. ‘How do you know all this, Father?’

‘I’m a priest. People tell me things. I hear confessions.’

‘Tell me what you’ve heard,’ she commanded.

‘You know I can’t, Marie.’ He jumped when a noise came from upstairs: one of the boys was using the bathroom. ‘To tell the truth, I don’t feel safe myself. I know too much.’

‘We’re going back to Donegal shortly to live with me mam,’ she said resolutely. ‘We’ll be safe there.’

‘I don’t think you will, Marie. Everyone knows where you come from.’

‘Enda Kelly said we’d be all right,’ she protested.

Father O’Mara shook his head. ‘Enda Kelly doesn’t know the half of it. He might have got the odd name, but not the whole story. He can kill one man in revenge for Mickey, but that’ll only start a war and Patrick will be in even greater danger.’

Marie’s hands went to her head, as if she was trying to hold herself together. She had lost her husband and now, according to Father O’Mara, was about to lose a son. Life had become the worst of nightmares. ‘Then what am I supposed to do?’ she asked helplessly.

‘Pack your bags,’ the priest said urgently, ‘be ready to leave first thing in the morning. I’ll take you to Dun Laoghaire and you can catch the ferry to England. I’ll arrange somewhere for you to stay in London. A big city’s the best place to hide out.’

Hide out
. ‘Will it be for ever, Father?’ Her voice trembled.

‘I don’t know how long it will be for, Marie.’ He stood and she stood with him. ‘You mustn’t tell anyone about this: not your family, not Enda. The fewer people know, the safer you will be.’

He arrived at the crack of dawn wearing jeans, an open-neck checked shirt, and a tan anorak. The car was a big eight-seater thing that she’d often seen him use to take kids to football matches. She went outside to speak to him.

‘Danny wants to know if he can bring the computer,’ she said.

‘Tell Danny he can bring anything he wants except the furniture.’ He looked very tired, as if he’d been up all night: it turned out that he had. ‘A gang broke into the Presbytery last night. They were looking for me, but I was out giving the Last Rites, thank the Lord.’ He crossed himself. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but I’m coming with you, Marie. We’ll be protection for each other. No one’ll be looking for Mr and Mrs Liam Jordan and their two boys. I’ve a brother called Liam and me mother’s maiden name was Jordan,’ he explained in response to her look of bemusement. ‘How did Patrick and Danny take the idea of going away?’

‘They’re very confused and frightened and just a tiny bit excited at the idea of going to London. I told them it would be dangerous to go back to Donegal and we had to leave for a while till all the fuss died down.’ She hadn’t mentioned it was Patrick who was specifically at risk. ‘They’re just packing the last of their things.’ She shrugged, feeling incredibly sad. ‘I’ll just go and tell Danny it’s all right about the computer.’

She sighed. Gulls were squawking angrily on the roofs and there was merely a suggestion of silvery light in the
east where the sun would eventually rise. The curtains on the rest of the houses in the street were closed: there was no one awake to see them go and wish them goodbye.

No one spoke as the luggage was carried out. No one smiled. When everything was done and they climbed into the car – Patrick hugging his precious guitar as if he got some sort of comfort from it – Father O’Mara turned and said gravely, ‘I’ll be looking after you from now on. I owe it to Mickey. He was a fine man.’

‘You’ve never spoken a truer word, Father,’ Marie murmured.

‘Liam,’ the priest said. ‘From now on, you must call me Liam.’

12
JULY
2001

It can’t be raining!

When Marie woke, the room was flooded with sunlight, the sky a pale morning blue and the bit she could see was completely cloudless.

Yet she could hear rain. She got out of bed, padded across to the open window, and saw that Rachel Williams was watering the communal lawn with a hosepipe. The water made a sizzling sound when it hit the dry earth.

She stood for a moment looking at the houses. They looked perfect in their newness, like the Lego buildings the boys used to build when they were small. Some of the roofs were red-tiled, the others green. She hadn’t noticed that before, although must have done and just not taken it in. All the curtains were closed, including those in the bungalow to her left that she could just about see and where, according to Rachel, a Mrs Moon was about to move in.

Rachel seemed to know everything. She was a terrible busybody, the sort of person Marie wouldn’t normally like, but there was something desperately pathetic about her. Her eyes were full of sadness, as if, inside, she was hurting badly. Marie wondered if her own eyes gave the same impression to the world?

She pulled on jeans and a T-shirt, checked the boys were still asleep, didn’t even glance at Liam’s door when
she passed it, and went outside. “Morning, Rachel,’ she called as she walked towards the woman who looked a sight in an over-large man’s shirt and grey leggings that were much too tight. Her flat, lifeless hair badly needed something doing to it – a perm, for instance, although a good brushing would have done for now.

‘Good morning, you’re up early. I thought I’d do this,’ she indicated the hose, ‘the poor grass looked awfully parched and I was worried the little tree might die without any water.’

‘I’m not up as early as you.’ Marie looked at her watch: five to seven.

‘I can never sleep in daylight. I rise with the sun in summer.’

‘That’s a sensible thing to do. You can get so much more done in the early morning. My husband used to be amazed when he came down and saw the line full of washing.’ She remembered Liam was supposed to be her husband now. It was Mickey who’d been impressed with the washing blowing on the line. ‘You’ve been busy, luv,’ he’d say sleepily. He was a night person, it took him ages to come to in the morning. ‘I didn’t even know you were up,’ he’d say.

She caught her breath. He’d seemed so real just then when she’d thought about him. If only there was some way of telling him how sorry she was about what had happened with Liam. It was just that she’d been so mixed up and terrified: nothing was making sense any more. Her normal, very ordinary life had been turned upside down and she’d smothered her grief by thinking about Liam rather than the man who would always be the love of her life. It was a relief that she’d been strong enough not to sleep with him. She couldn’t have lived with
herself if she had. Her reverie was interrupted by a cry from Rachel.

‘Gareth! You look as if you’ve spent a night out on the tiles.’

Gareth Moran had entered the square. He looked embarrassed. Marie suspected he would have turned round and waited until the coast was clear had he known she and Rachel would be there.

‘Slept at a mates,’ he mumbled.

‘Leaving your wife on her own?’ Rachel raised her eyebrows and Marie felt deeply for the young man. Rachel was awfully tactless.

‘She’s not there,’ Gareth was forced to admit. ‘She’s at her mother’s.’

Fortunately, Rachel didn’t ask if they’d had a row, but said she hoped the little cat hadn’t felt lonely by itself. ‘If you ever want to go away, I’ll look after her for you,’ she offered.

‘Thanks. She’s a he, actually, although her – I mean his – name’s Tabitha.’ He looked anxious to get away. ‘I’d better go. I’ve got things to do before I go to work.’

Gareth stumbled into Hamilton Lodge. He prayed the women hadn’t noticed he’d come out of Victoria’s house. It struck him what a dangerous thing he was doing, having an affair under the noses of the neighbours. If it got back to Debbie, she’d blow every single fuse in her perfect little body and their marriage would be over.

He stood in the hall, his back to the door, and wondered if that would be such an awful thing? She’d divorce him, take him for every penny he had, leaving him free to marry Victoria. On reflection, there weren’t
any pennies for her to take, only debts, which Debbie was welcome to – they were mainly hers, anyroad.

‘Tabitha,’ he yelled, ‘come and get your brekkie.’

‘I’ve already fed him,’ said a small voice from the direction of the kitchen. Gareth went in. Debbie was sitting at the table wearing a frilly camisole top and bikini pants to match which he understood was the latest in sleeping gear. Her long black hair fell loosely over her sunburned shoulders and her face, bare of make-up, was dejected. She looked terribly appealing, but he didn’t feel even faintly turned on. Until recently, he would have torn off her sexy outfit and made love to her on the table – had there been room amongst the dirty dishes that had been there since Sunday when his in-laws had paid them a visit. Now, he felt only irritation that she would distract him from thinking about the night he’d just spent with Victoria.

‘I thought you were at your mum’s,’ he said stiffly.

‘I came home, really late, because I wanted us to make up, but you weren’t here. You weren’t here the night before last either.’ Her sniff was a mixture of pathos and indignation.

‘There’d be no need to make up if you didn’t keep running off to your mother’s in a huff,’ he pointed out, ‘and you can’t expect me to sit here by meself and mope every time you do.’

‘You used to. You used to phone and plead with me to come back.’

‘I’ve grown up, Debs. Those days are over. You make it sound like we were playing a game.’ Tabitha came and rubbed himself against Gareth’s ankle. He picked the kitten up. Poor little sod. Rachel was right, he
was
being neglected. Tonight, he’d take Tabitha with him to Victoria’s – that’s if he could get away. Could he really
bring himself to have another row with Debbie so she’d go back to her mother’s? It would be a really horrible thing to do, although it turned out that the row they were about to have was perfectly genuine …

‘I love it when we make up,’ Debbie said in a small voice.

‘It still sounds like a game.’

‘I don’t think I understand you any more, Gareth.’ There was a suspicion of tears in her big, brown eyes. ‘What we need is a holiday, to get away and forget everything for a few weeks, just concentrate on each other.’

‘I’ve already told you we can’t afford a holiday. What’s that you’ve got there?’ he asked sharply. She was folding and unfolding a slip of paper on the table in front of her.

‘It’s a receipt. Yesterday, I paid in full for the holiday in Barbados with my credit card. Oh, Gareth!’ she cried. ‘It was silly to let the deposit go to waste: four hundred pounds and nothing to show for it. We’ll have a wonderful time.’

‘So, you paid another three thousand six hundred?’ His voice had risen an octave. He felt himself go faint and hurriedly sat down. He’d meant to ring the travel agent and cancel the holiday, but there’d been so many other things to think about.

‘I didn’t think you’d mind,’ she said sulkily, clearly alarmed by his tone.

‘Mind! Mind! Mind is too mild a word to use. I’m totally horrified. How many times must I tell you, Debs,
we can’t afford it
. Didn’t we discuss this very same thing yesterday? Christ!’ He banged his head on the table, but it didn’t help. ‘You didn’t buy the Prairie Dog while you were at it, did you?’

‘Of course I didn’t, that’s something we’d have to do together.’

Thank the Lord. ‘What’s the limit on your credit card?’ he asked dully.

‘I’ve never looked. I didn’t know it had a limit.’

‘Debbie, I think you should go back to your mother’s.’

‘What, now?’

‘Yes, now, before I kill you, before the postman comes with more bills and I kill you again.’

Debbie stamped her foot. ‘You’re acting like a prima donna, Gareth. Mum always says you act like a prima donna.’

‘Does she?’ He didn’t care what his gruesome mother-in-law thought. All he cared about were his monstrous debts and, of course, Victoria.

‘What have you been up to?’ Frank grunted when Rachel went indoors. He was dressed for work, but still had to put on a jacket and tie. The sun had never treated Frank kindly: the skin on his bald scalp was flaking and his face had turned an unflattering dark red.

‘I’ve been watering the grass at the front,’ she explained, knowing he was bound to tell her she was mad or something.

‘It’s not your job to do it. I thought it was communal?’

‘It is, but I don’t mind. It was terribly dry and I was worried that the willow tree would die.’

‘What a pity you didn’t show the same concern for Alice before
she
died,’ he said, and the bitterness in his voice sliced through her like a knife. It hurt so much she could hardly breathe. Before she could think of a reply –
was
there a reply to such a stark, cruel statement? – he
had opened the fridge. ‘Is there anything to eat in this house?’ he asked sourly.