A Savage Hunger (Paula Maguire 4) (21 page)

‘No, I didn’t want it. But I did it for you. I did it, and I stayed in this bloody town for you, though I should have gone years back, and this is how you repay me. And Maggie. How could you do this to her?’

He jerked as if she’d slapped him. ‘I’d do anything for her. Anything.’

‘Anything except keep your bloody temper for one night. One night you go out, and you’re back on the booze, back in your seedy old pubs, fists out – Christ, Aidan, I thought you were past all that.’

‘It’s been two years! Have I ever given you a moment’s worry? Have I not made your dinner, and minded your house, and looked after your child, and—’

‘My child!’ She was aware that people were starting to look over, and tried to lower her voice to a savage whisper. ‘Since when is she
my
child?’

As soon as she’d said it, Paula wished she could take the words back. Push them into the dark again. Go back to how things had been, the comfort of silence, the gentleness of lies.

When he spoke, Aidan’s voice was soft. ‘Maguire. That’s the thing, see.’

‘Look, I shouldn’t have—’ She wanted to keep talking, fill the space with words, make a dam against the thing he was about to say, rushing towards them like a wall of water, so big she could already feel the shape of it.

‘I’m not,’ he said. ‘I should have – God help me, I don’t think we can get past this now but I have to tell you – I’m not.’

She should have said,
not what?
But she didn’t. Because she knew.

Aidan said, ‘I’m not her dad. It’s – well, it’s not me, so you can work it out. I thought it wouldn’t matter – I thought he didn’t love you like I did, back off to London with his wife. I thought if I could get you back, I’d be worthy of it, I’d take you both as mine. And I did. I did, didn’t I? She wouldn’t have felt the difference? She knows I love her?’

Paula found her voice, choked up in her throat, and spoke carefully. ‘What the hell are you saying? We don’t know who her father is. You can’t tell by looking. I know we learned in school you can’t have a blue-eyed child if one parent has brown eyes but it’s not true, it’s more complex than that—’

‘Maguire. There was a test.’

And the world stopped.

‘You did a test on Maggie?’ Her voice flattened out, cold as marble. She felt rage seep into her blood. ‘You need my permission for that.’

He was looking down at the table. Aidan had many faults, but he was a terrible liar.

‘Not you. I know you wouldn’t do that.’ No, like her, he would have been too scared to know the result. Her dad wouldn’t have either, he preferred to leave things be and hope for the best. So that meant . . . ‘Your mother did a test? Pat did it?’

‘She was minding Maggie ages ago, after she was born – she got a wee test out of Boots and I suppose she just – did it. It’s just a cheek swab, you know, Mags didn’t feel a thing—’

Paula snarled. ‘
For fuck’s sake
.’

‘OK, I know, that’s not the point. Please don’t be angry with her, Maguire. She’s eaten up with guilt. She did it because – she thought it was keeping us apart, that she married your da – her selfishness, stopping Maggie from having a family. I don’t think she ever believed you would, you know, sleep with someone else. She thought it had to be me and she wanted to prove it, make us get together. It’s just not in her world view that you would – do that. But then – well. The results came back.’

Despite his words, Paula had so far been sitting inside a bubble of denial. Aidan was upset, talking nonsense. Pat wouldn’t do that. Aidan couldn’t love Maggie like that if he wasn’t – but suddenly the world was tilting.

‘Say something,’ said Aidan, pleading. ‘Look. Brooking – he loved you, in his way. He’s just English. And I’ve taken his wean away these past two years. God forgive me, it was wrong. But I thought it was the right thing. I honestly did. I’ve done my best by you both, I swear I have. Last night, it was just – I fucked up, Maguire.’

Paula gradually became aware of her surroundings, the rise and fall of voices, children shouting, the bleach smell of the place. The enormity of what he was telling her sank in. For a long time, minutes or maybe even hours, days, neither of them spoke. Then she stirred. Her hands felt numb. ‘Just tell me one thing.’

Aidan could barely move his head. She’d never seen him like this, so sunk under misery. It made her heart race in her chest with fear, made her want to run right out from those concrete walls and snatch up Maggie and never come back. ‘What?’

‘When was this?’ Her voice came out strangely. ‘How long have you known?’ Suddenly, everything depended on his answer.

Aidan said, ‘When I asked you to marry me. The first time.’

When he’d come to her in the hospital, after she’d been attacked. Maggie just weeks old. And he’d said let’s not do a test, I’ll be her dad, no matter what. ‘You’re saying you
knew
 . . . you mean . . .’ Aidan was not Maggie’s father. It was as certain as writing on a page. Guy Brooking was. She’d been raising Guy’s child. And Aidan had known about it for two years.

‘I’ll tell them what happened between me and that man Conlon, Maguire. They can judge as they see fit. But I reckon I’ll be in here a while. Maggie will be—’ His voice hitched and she bit her lip, hard, to keep the tears from her eyes. ‘She’ll maybe be a big girl by then. So don’t fall out with Ma, Maguire. You’ll need her. Don’t blame her. I just needed to tell you, so that you knew. So you can choose. And I hope that the past two years – I’ve loved you, Maguire, God help me I have, and the wee one too – I just have to hope that counts for something.’

Her world had shrunk to the rickety coffee-stained table between them. And with a sudden rush Paula understood this was real, this was happening. Aidan was in prison. He might not get out. And that the carefully constructed shell of the past two years – happy years, happiness that seemed to cut her to ribbons now – was shattered and fallen to pieces around them.

Alice

I don’t understand why you’re going.
Katy’s voice is quiet in the dark, but it doesn’t matter. We both know neither of us can sleep.

I could say, of course you know. I know you know. I could say, I know you were there. But I can’t speak.

Al . . . I don’t know what’s happened. Why are you leaving me? For that horrible cottage?

My voice is very small and hard.
I have to.

But do you . . . do you not like me any more?

I almost laugh. She can ask me this, after everything? When I’m dying? When I haven’t eaten a bite since it happened?

I realise Katy is crying.
Al . . . you’re my best friend.
She’s out of bed. I hear her heavy footsteps on the square of carpet between our beds.
Al – please don’t be mad with me. I can’t – I can’t take it.

She’s kneeling beside me. I can feel her breath – warm, damp. And suddenly I am back there. That night. Everything.
I love you
, she says.
You know I love you.

I’m out of bed before I know it, shaking.
Get away.

Katy cries harder, sitting on the floor.
I don’t understand. What did I do?

I could say, Oh, hey Katy, you know how you were actually there when it happened? You didn’t happen to see if it was Peter or Dermot or maybe both? (Or you, you’re there sometimes when I . . .)

I say,
Katy.
Louder.
Katy.

I know she can hear me but it takes her a while to say,
What.

Why don’t you help me?

She doesn’t answer.

I try,
I know you know what happened.

Nothing.

Katy, I could tell them, you know. I could tell them what you did to me and . . .

Nothing again, and I think she’s just going to ignore me. Then I hear her voice, hard and low across the room.
I don’t know why you think they’d believe you. Everyone knows you’re fucked up. So fine – if you want to go, just go. Leave me. Disappear, if that’s all you know how to do.

Chapter Thirty-Six

‘Listen, pet, I know what happened, Aidan told me—’

‘No, Dad. It’s not OK – I didn’t want this! Aidan and I, we discussed it, it was no one else’s business . . .’

‘I know.’ PJ put his hand on her arm. He was not a demonstrative man, and it stopped Paula in her tracks. She’d burst into their house, nothing in her head but anger at what Pat had done, what Aidan had done. ‘I know all that. She had no business. She knows it too. She was just in a bad way. Thinking it was her fault you and himself couldn’t get your heads together.’

‘No one told me! Did you know too?’

He shook his head. ‘I didn’t, pet, I swear it, I just found out—’

‘Lying to me! For
two goddamn years
! About my own child!’ Vaguely, she wondered if Maggie was in earshot. She was too angry to care.

‘I know. Listen, would you. Pat did a wrong thing, and it’s been eating her up ever since. But you need to know something else before you go tearing into her. She was down at the hospital the other day—’

‘I know, Saoirse told me, but—’

‘
Paula
.’ She subsided. Her father – did he have tears in his eyes? She’d never seen him cry, not even when her mother went. He’d kept it from her, tried to pretend everything would be fine, in the grand tradition of Ireland.

‘Dad.’ Her heart fell like a stone. ‘What—’

‘She’s not well.’ PJ’s voice was suddenly thick with tears. ‘She – she went for some ould tests, and they said . . . well – she’s not well. She didn’t want to tell you till after the wedding.’

‘Is it – what is it?’ Paula could hardly force the words out. ‘Cancer?’ He nodded dully. ‘What kind?’ PJ opened his mouth, nothing came out. Made a shapeless, desperate gesture with his hands. ‘Breast?’ she tried. He nodded again. ‘Well, that’s – it’s often OK, isn’t it . . . I mean did they say . . .’

‘Aye, aye, they’re going to try – things.’ He gave a big juddering sigh. ‘Look at the cut of me. Grown man bawling like a wean. There’s things they can do, or so they say. But she needs us to help her get well.’

‘Where is she?’

He indicated the living room. ‘But don’t . . .’

‘I won’t. Let me see her.’

Pat was lying on the sofa, an unprecedented sight. She had her eyes closed and a blanket draped round her. She stirred as Paula went in, groping for her glasses. ‘Oh, pet . . .’

‘Don’t get up.’ Paula went over to her, sank to her knees. ‘Oh Pat.’ Suddenly she was choking back tears too, her nose aching and eyes blurred. ‘God, what a mess. It’s all such a bloody mess.’

‘I’m sorry, pet,’ Pat croaked. ‘I did a terrible thing. It wasn’t my place. And I love her, you know I love her like she was . . . and you like you’re . . .’

‘Shh.’ Paula grasped Pat’s hand, which was shaking, cold despite the blanket and warm day. ‘We’ll get you well. None of that matters now. Leave it. We had to find out sometime.’

‘I never treated her any different,’ Pat was saying. ‘She’s my wee dote . . . And my Aidan, locked up in that place, because of what that man did . . . When’s it going to be over? When will we have a bit of happiness?’

Paula didn’t know the answer to that. It hadn’t seemed so much to ask for; a wedding, a happy family. But that wasn’t going to be the way of it now. ‘It’s OK. It’ll be OK.’

She looked up at her father, who was stooped against the door lintel, as if he was sick too. She knew two things – one, that although this changed everything, she would never reproach Pat for what had happened. It was done, it was crossed, it was too late. But two, that every moral and reason in her being told her she had to let Guy Brooking know he was Maggie’s father.

‘Paula.’ Colin McCready rose from behind his desk. ‘I’m very sorry . . .’

‘Yeah. Thanks.’ Paula sat down, dropping her bag on the floor. She didn’t want to hear how sad it was. She wanted to do something about it, and quick. She hadn’t slept a wink all night – her wedding dress staring at her like a ghost from inside the wardrobe, Maggie limp beside her, having cried herself to sleep. She’d sent everyone away – she couldn’t bear the looks, the pity. Now she was here to do something. If that was even possible. There had to be something she could do. She just had to focus on that, and keep going, and maybe it would be all right, and she wouldn’t have to think about the fact her wedding hadn’t gone ahead and Aidan was in prison. ‘So you’ve had the details, I think. It seems . . . well, I wouldn’t say they had a watertight case.’ They. She was used to being on the side of the police. Of right, as Corry said. But now . . . she didn’t know.

‘No. Unfortunately your . . . er, Mr O’Hara did admit to assaulting Mr Conlon that night. That will make it difficult. Any of the blows he dealt could, of course, have killed Mr Conlon. Mr O’Hara was seen drinking by several people, and his dispute with Mr Conlon is well known—’

‘Yes, yes,’ said Paula impatiently. ‘It’s not good. I know it’s not good. I just want to know what’s likely to happen.’ So that she could make some decisions.

He hesitated. ‘If we’re lucky they won’t be able to prove he intended Conlon’s death . . . manslaughter, even. But they might say Mr O’Hara went to the pub with pre-meditation. He hadn’t been in there for a long time, the owner said.’

Typical of the landlord, dropping Aidan, who had been one of his most loyal customers, in it at the first sign of trouble. ‘Aidan’s been off the drink. It was his stag do.’

‘I know. That may . . . go against him. You also had a trip booked for a few days later, I believe. That doesn’t look good.’

‘It was our honeymoon.’ She stared hard at her hands. The wedding manicure was still in place, not even chipped. But everything else was broken, wrecked beyond repair.

‘I know. I’m very sorry. There’s other evidence too – they’ve matched Mr O’Hara’s shoes to some footprints on the deceased.’

She didn’t understand. ‘
On
him?’

‘It looks like he’s been stamped on.’ Aidan, planting a trainer on Conlon’s chest – the distinctive star of the Converse he always wore – standing on the man, kicking him till he stopped moving.

She wasn’t going to be sick. Not here. She would hold it together. ‘Right. And how many years would it be for manslaughter?’

‘With good behaviour . . . maybe eight.’

Eight. Maggie would be ten then, at least. Paula tried hard to breathe.

He hovered, his kind face red and anxious. ‘I’m very sorry, Paula. I wish I’d better news.’

She stood up. She couldn’t bear pity, not from him, or anyone. ‘Not your fault. Will you take the case please, Colin? I want you to do it. I know you’ll see him right . . . or as right as anyone can.’

‘I’ll do my best, Paula. Of course I will. But—’

‘I know it’s not good. Just whatever can be done.’ Compassion on his florid, fat face. Colin McCready, a lifelong bachelor, did not look after himself all that well.

Suddenly she knew she had to get out of there, the sad little office with its out-of-date calendar and wilting pot plants, the very same desk in the reception that her mother had sat at, in another life. ‘Thank you, Colin.’

Outside, the town felt febrile. Ready to pounce, ready to topple. The murder of a prominent Republican like Sean Conlon, coming in the restless heart of the summer, would not pass peacefully. The streets were full of men, young and old, hanging about. Waiting for something, even if they didn’t know what. Hoods pulled over their faces. Stones in their pockets, and maybe worse.

‘There’ll be more trouble tonight,’ PJ had remarked that morning in a ‘talking about normal things’ voice. Because for everyone else, this was normal. Life was going on. They’d riot and burn things, and everyone would enjoy themselves, except the police, who’d get spat at and dodge stones and wonder if anyone in the crowd happened to have a gun.

No one cared about Paula’s problems. It mattered to no one that her wedding had been cancelled and her fiancé was in prison. It was high summer in Ballyterrin, and that meant riots would be held, and maybe someone would die, and Alice Morgan would still be missing. Nothing had changed, but all the same everything was different.