I Saw You (36 page)

‘Please.’ Vanessa held out her hand for the bottle. ‘Please.’

‘Water? You want water? I should take you out to the lake again. I should tip you out of the boat. And I should sit and watch you drown. Just the way your sister Marina sat and watched
your father drown.’ She lifted the bottle high and turned it at an angle. ‘It’s true, you know. My son found out what she did. And we decided she should be punished. Humiliation,
torment, terror – she should feel them all.’ The water dribbled from the bottle. Vanessa watched the sparkling drops.

‘And all Dominic’s friends would watch. Those girls who loved him. They would do anything for him. And that pathetic creature, Mark. His shadow we called him. Born on the same day.
In the same hospital. His mother was my best friend. My son was strong and handsome. Hers was weak and helpless. Stunted. But Dominic was good to him. And he said that night, he said,
“It’s your turn now to have some fun. Your turn to have Marina.” Helena sat down on the bed beside her. ‘It’s a pity she’s gone. She was pleasure. And now, in
gratitude to your sister, I will let you drink. Here.’ And she thrust the bottle into Vanessa’s mouth, banging it against her teeth, trapping her tongue so that Vanessa gagged, choked
and spat.

‘So much for gratitude.’ Helena stood up. She dropped the bottle on the floor. It rolled under the bed. Vanessa’s eyes pricked again.

‘More bloody tears.’ Helena walked to the door. She opened it. The dog lifted his head. Helena bent down and stroked his ears. ‘There’s a good boy,’ she crooned.
She stepped over him. Vanessa heard her footsteps on the stairs. The dog got up. He walked to the bed. He lay down and put his head between his paws. His eyes, the colour of toffee, stared at
her.

McLoughlin reached the trees. Sweat was dripping down his forehead. His knees were aching from the stress of the downhill slope and he wanted badly to sit down. He was
beginning to regret coming here on his own. Too old, he thought, for this kind of caper. He moved carefully, keeping his eyes on the rough ground underfoot. The last thing he needed was a sprain or
a twisted ankle. And felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out. It was Sally. ‘Hi, Sally. Listen, I’ve been meaning to ring you. I think I may be getting somewhere. I
didn’t want to worry you, but I think maybe you’re right. Maybe there is more to Marina’s death than I thought.’

‘Michael,’ Sally said. ‘Michael, I need to talk to you. Vanessa’s missing.’

‘Missing? How long?’ He stopped.

‘Tomorrow is her eighteenth birthday. We had agreed we’d spend the day together. We always spend her birthday together. We have a routine. The evening before we always have a special
dinner. That’s tonight, Michael, but she’s not here. And her phone is switched off. Something’s wrong.’ He could hear the hysteria in her voice. It made the hairs rise up on
his arms.

‘Look, Sally, I know this is a bad time for you. But, please, don’t worry.’ He was conscious of how loud his voice sounded in the quiet of the wood, but as far as he could see
he was on his own. He tried to speak softly. He held the phone close to his lips. ‘Vanessa is probably out with her friends. After all, she’s been through a lot recently. Maybe she
needs some time on her own, away from you.’

Margaret watched Sally. Her face was white, her lips quivered. Margaret held out her hand and Sally gave her the phone. She grasped it. It felt heavy. Her palms were damp.
Butterflies danced in her stomach.

‘Michael, hallo. Do you remember me?’ She waited for an answer. There was silence. ‘Michael, it’s Margaret Mitchell. Remember? I’m sorry to surprise you like this,
but I need to talk to you. About Sally and her daughter.’

McLoughlin couldn’t speak. His throat seemed to have closed. He felt the warmth of the sun fade. It was a cold night in winter. And he was standing in the dark, looking
at the man who was lying trussed up on the floor.

‘Michael, are you there?’

He cleared his throat. ‘Yes, I am. Where are you?’ It was suddenly very important that he could visualize her.

‘I’m in my house in Brighton Vale. And Sally is with me. And you have to listen to her. The way you listened to me.’ Her voice was urgent.

‘Why are you there? Why have you come back? I don’t think you should be there.’

There was silence for a moment. Then she spoke again. ‘That’s not important now, Michael. You have to listen to Sally. Her daughter is missing. Remember Mary? My Mary?’

‘OK, Margaret. This is what you must do. Tell Sally to get in touch with Tony Heffernan. I can’t do anything at the moment. Tony is the person to contact. He’ll help.’
McLoughlin began to walk again. He felt exposed and vulnerable.

Margaret looked at Sally. ‘She’s done that, Michael, she did that first thing. He gave her all the usual stuff about waiting, being sure. The kind of things that were said to me when
I reported Mary missing. Michael, Sally can’t wait any longer. She knows there’s something wrong. You have to help her. Please, Michael, the way you helped me.’

He remembered. Sitting in the garden in Monkstown. Trying to explain to her what they were doing. What they were going to do. Where they were going to search. How confident they were that they
would find her.

‘Listen, Margaret, I’m out in Wicklow. I have to check on something to do with Marina, Sally’s daughter. I’m sure she’s told you about her. Give me a couple of
hours and I’ll be back. In the meantime, go to Dun Laoghaire Garda station. Take a photograph. Tell them she’s been gone for two or even three days. Cry, do whatever you can to get them
moving on it.’ He paused. ‘Look, I’m sure it’ll be OK. Not every missing girl ends up the way your daughter did.’ He added, ‘I’m sorry. That sounded harsh.
I didn’t mean it like that.’

‘That’s OK, Michael, I understand. We’ll do that. We’ll do as you suggest.’ Margaret smiled at Sally again.

‘Margaret, wait! Margaret, listen to me!’ McLoughlin was shouting now.

‘Yes?’

‘I have to see you. I can’t believe you’re here. I can’t believe you’ve come back.’

Margaret turned away from Sally. She moved towards the garden. ‘Yes,’ her voice was low, ‘but I won’t be here for long. There’s something I have to do. Something
that will take me away again.’ He could hear Sally’s voice in the background. ‘Look, we have to go. I’ll see you later. ’Bye for now.’

McLoughlin leaned against a huge beech. The light filtered through the canopy of branches. His heart was pounding, he felt sick. He was back in his car, driving towards Blessington. It was dark
and cold. There was a bottle of vodka on the passenger seat and he was drinking it as he drove. He was following the black Mercedes, the taxi Jimmy drove. He watched it turn up the lane towards the
cottage beneath the pines. He stopped his car, got out and followed on foot. Saw the woman emerge from the back seat. Then saw the other man come around from behind the house. The tall,
good-looking man he recognized from the Four Courts. Saw him hit Jimmy across the head so he dropped to the ground. Saw them drag him to the yard behind. Saw what happened next. And now she was
back. He had dreamed about this moment for years. Gone over and over it countless times. All he would say. All he would do. And now here he was out on a hillside in Wicklow, following up on some
half-arsed notion about water in a dinghy. It would be so easy. He could climb back up the hill, scramble over the wall, get into his car and drive back to the coast. So easy.

‘You’ve come this far, Michael,’ he said. ‘You might as well see it through.’

He moved away from the tree. Not far now to the lake. The sooner he got a look at the boat, the sooner he’d be out of there.

Vanessa lay on the bed. She was half asleep. Helena had come back. Had at last given her something to drink. It looked like wine, but it tasted different. It made her drift
off. Drift away. It was a good sensation. Comforting, like resting on a big, soft pillow. She could hear a sound. Someone was singing. She tried to hear the words. A children’s song or a
nursery rhyme.

Gonna tell, gonna tell, gonna tell on you.

The words repeated over and over again. She drifted back to sleep. Then woke with a start. She could see out of the window from here. See below, the small front garden and the path from the
road. Could see someone coming. A man was wheeling a trolley along the path. It was stacked with cardboard boxes. On the top was a white laptop. It was an Apple iBook. Vanessa knew the type. Marina
had one. She’d said she’d give Vanessa one for her birthday. The man came through the gate. Helena went out to meet him. They moved closer to the front door. Vanessa couldn’t see
them, but she could hear them. She strained to listen to their conversation.

‘Your son . . . He said you’d know what to do with this stuff.’ The man’s voice was gruff and low.

‘Of course. He told me you were coming. You can bring it all in. This way. Follow me.’

She heard the tramp of the man’s feet as he came up the stairs. He was moving slowly. His tread was heavy. She heard a loud thump. The boxes. maybe, hitting the floor, she thought. And the
bang as the door to the other bedroom was closed. She tried to sit up.

‘Help me. Please help me.’ Her voice was weak.

The door creaked open.

‘Please,’ she whispered.

The man didn’t speak. He backed away. He closed the door. She heard his steps on the stairs again. She was so tired. Her legs were heavy. She could barely move them. She sighed again. And
at last she slept.

The butterfly perched on a clump of nettles. Its wings opened, showing orange and white markings. McLoughlin held his breath. He held out his hand and extended a finger. The
butterfly rose slowly, hovered in front of him, then opened its wings wide and glided away. McLoughlin turned to follow its progress. He watched it until it was no longer visible, as it disappeared
among the branches of the huge beech trees. Then he continued down the hill towards the house.

He could see it clearly now below him. A Land Rover was parked in the yard. There was no sign of its passengers. The door to the kitchen was open. He tried to figure out how he was going to get
past the house and around to the boathouse at the far end of the beach. He sat down to catch his breath. He was thirsty and his calves were aching after the steep descent from the top of the hill.
He wondered where Helena de Paor might be and, more to the point, her dog. He had asked Tony Heffernan, ‘Is she still bonkers?’ He had said it as if she was some kind of harmless old
lady who muttered to herself in the supermarket. But she wasn’t like that. She was frightening – dangerous.

It was cooler now and the sweat on his back had chilled. He pulled out his phone. It was eight fifteen. He hadn’t realized how much time had passed since he had driven out here.

He got to his feet. The only way to get past the house without being in full view of its windows was to go behind the stables. The trees came down right behind them and he could make his way
through them and come out at the far side in the deer pasture. From there it wasn’t too far to the boathouse. He hoped. He pulled the handkerchief from his hand. The ripped skin had stopped
bleeding. He wiped his forehead and took a deep breath. Time to go.

Vanessa woke with a start. For a moment she thought she was at home in Monkstown. The shape of this room was like that of her bedroom in the mews. Its ceiling sloped down to
the floor and the windows were low and small. She could hear the sound of the radio coming from downstairs. A chatter of voices. Perhaps one was her mother’s. She would be cooking dinner,
listening to the evening news programme. Talking to one of her friends on the phone. Maybe Janet whom she had known from school. Or Margaret – so sad always, but she had helped her mother,
there was no doubt about that. It was such a relief to be able to leave her. To go out without worrying about her all the time. But now, she was sure, her mother would be worried about her. It was
the day before her birthday. They had planned her birthday dinner. Her mother had told her she could have all her favourite things.

‘I’ll make you an Indian feast,’ her mother had said. There would be
dal
and spinach and potato. Okra, cooked with sugar and lemon. And chickpeas done in the
sweet-and-sour fashion. There would be cucumber with mint and yoghurt, and carrot salad with mustard seeds and lemon juice. ‘And one meat dish. You must have one meat dish,’ her mother
had said.

So she had picked
rogan josh
, made with lamb and yoghurt. There would be a bowl of rice with peas and a pile of
naan
bread, hot and puffy from the grill.

‘And to drink – what will we have to drink?’ she had asked.

‘Well,’ her mother lifted her pencil and tapped the shopping list, ‘I remember your father saying there was only one thing to drink with Indian food and that was champagne. So
that’s what we’ll have tonight. Champagne. How does that sound?’

Imagine that, she had thought. Imagine having a father who knew that champagne was the right thing to drink with Indian food. And it made this man whom she had never known, who had always been a
face in a photograph with hair the same colour as hers, seem real and alive for once.

She rolled on to her back. She was alone. The dog lead trailed across the floor. She sat up slowly. She began to crawl towards the door. It was half open. She peered around it, then moved out on
to the landing. And saw. The dog was lying across the end of the stairs. He lifted his head and looked at her.

‘Ah, you’ve decided to join us.’ Helena stood beside him. She had a bundle of clothes in her hands. ‘Here, put these on. We’re going for a walk.’ She flung
the skirt and blouse up to her. ‘Hurry up, now, it’s getting late. And there’s something else I want you to do before we go out. Quickly now. Don’t keep me
waiting.’

‘My shoes. Where are my shoes?’ Vanessa held out her hand.

‘Christ almighty, you want everything, don’t you? Count yourself lucky that you’ve anything to wear. And don’t start getting any ideas about going home. Home is the last
place you’re going.’ Helena’s face split into a grin. ‘Of course, you could say that you’re being called home. But that phrase will be lost on you, I’d say.
You’re too young to have heard it regularly. Now,’ she put a hand on the dog’s head and he rose to his feet, ‘put that stuff on. Quickly, before I feel the need to come and
do it for you.’