Can Anybody Help Me?

Cover Page

Title Page

Copyright Page

Dedication

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

CHAPTER FORTY

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

First published in Great Britain in year of 2014 by

Quercus Editions Ltd
55 Baker Street
7th Floor, South Block
London
W1U 8EW

Copyright © 2014 Sinéad Crowley

The moral right of Sinéad Crowley to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopy, recording, or any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

TPB ISBN 978 1 78206 722 1
EBOOK ISBN 978 1 78206 723 8

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places and events are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

You can find this and many other great books at:
www.quercusbooks.co.uk

Sinéad Crowley is currently Arts and Media Correspondent with RTE, Ireland's national broadcaster. Working for radio, television and the web, she has covered stories ranging from general elections to the Eurovision Song Contest, and has reported from locations including Southern Africa, Azerbaijan and the Oscars. A self-confessed internet addict, she discovered the world of parenting websites when on maternity leave with her first child. Sinéad lives in Dublin with her husband and two young sons.

For Alice and Michael Crowley

It was the ‘Mum' that did it. Up until then, things had been going pretty well. The traffic had been light, they'd found a parking space within a short walk of the hospital and the waiting room, when they'd finally located it, hadn't been too full. In fact, by the time Claire realised the wait would be far shorter than she'd anticipated, she had almost convinced herself that she was going to enjoy the experience. And then the nurse gestured towards the long, low bed and wrecked any chance of that.

‘Now, just hop up there, Mum, and Marie will be with you in a second.'

‘Mum.'

Welcome to pregnancy; leave your individuality and your name at the door of the antenatal ward. Sighing heavily, Claire turned towards her husband for an appreciative audience for her eye roll. But Matt had disappeared. In his place was a dewy-eyed stranger, staring at the scan machine the way he had once stared at the barman in Flanagan's who was renowned for pulling the best pint of Guinness in the Western world.

She was on her own, so. A short, tired-looking woman – Marie, she assumed – bustled through the scuffed white door and busied herself with computer screens and tubes.

‘Now, this may be a little cold …'

Claire winced as the jelly was spread over her lower abdomen. A little cold? It was bloody freezing. You'd think they'd have come up with some solution to that: a heating device or something. Maybe she'd invent one herself, save her getting bored on maternity leave. Ordinarily she'd tell Matt that sort of thing, it'd give them a laugh at least, but instead, the big ball of mush at her side leant over and grabbed her hand.

‘Hard to believe, isn't it?'

‘Um.'

As far as Claire was concerned, it wasn't hard at all. She'd been living with the puking, jean-straining reality of this pregnancy for twenty weeks; she didn't need an ultrasound to confirm it. But Matt seemed determined to milk every misty-eyed minute, so she returned the pressure on his hand, briefly.

‘Ah, yeah. It's great.'

Her pocket vibrated and Marie glared. ‘All mobiles to be switched off please. They interfere with the equipment.'

‘Yeah, right. Sorry.'

Reaching into her pocket, Claire dragged out the phone. As she fumbled for the off switch, she couldn't help reading the text on the screen.

JURYS GONE OUT

Oh Christ. Her stomach churned. She knew it, bloody knew it. The one day she couldn't be there … Her finger twitched towards the reply button, but a quick look at Matt's face told
her that was out of the question. Right, so. Forget about it. Concentrate.

With a dramatic gesture, she turned the phone off and replaced it in her pocket before getting back into position on the bed.

‘Now. Where were we?'

But neither Marie nor her husband was listening. Instead, the technician moved the probe over Claire's stomach – although Claire was finding it difficult to think of it as ‘hers' any more – and began to mutter to herself.

‘Placenta is fundal … Baby is cephalic … Just trying to get … BPD …'

On the small black-and-white screen, shapes wobbled in and out of focus.

Matt's hand on Claire's squeezed tighter.

‘That's all normal though, yeah?'

Marie was poker-faced. They probably trained them like that, no point in letting the parents know there was a problem until they were sure. Still though, there wasn't going to be a problem, was there? Claire returned the pressure on her husband's hand and stared harder at the screen. It didn't look good though. Well, it didn't look like anything, but that couldn't be good, could it? Was that supposed to be a head? Or an arm …?

‘Sorry?'

Marie looked up, blinked, and smiled for the first time.

‘Oh, all perfectly normal! Sorry, just finding it hard to get a good measurement of Baby's head. You've got a little wriggler in there!'

Matt beamed proudly, but Claire found herself in need of further reassurance.

‘But everything looks fine?'

‘Everything looks as we would expect at this stage. I have to take a few measurements here, but look …'

She pointed out a leg, and an arm, a small hand. And then the magic happened. The tiny mouth opened and began to suck the thumb.

‘Ahhhh.'

For a moment the three of them were united in happiness, thrilled by the display on the screen. Claire felt herself relax, and squeezed Matt's hand once more. Everything was fine. Sure, that was grand, so. Excellent news. Excellent. At this rate she could be back in court while the jury was still deliberating …

‘That'd be the umbilical cord there, then?'

Matt leant over his wife's body to point, and she stared at him in surprise. Clearly someone had been reading the books he'd pointedly left on the bedside table.

‘That's it!'

Marie nodded at him. Best boy in the class.

‘I thought it might have been the other yoke.'

Matt grinned wider and Marie shook her head, smiling.

‘No … Do you want to know the sex, though? I can tell you …'

‘Yes!'

‘No!'

The answers came simultaneously. Marie looked confused.

Claire glanced at Matt.

‘I suppose I kinda assumed …'

It wasn't true. She hadn't really thought about it at all. But now they were there, and the information was right in front
of them, what was the harm? But her husband shook his head vehemently.

‘There are very few surprises in this world. We might as well keep this a secret for another while, yeah?'

‘Sure.'

Claire squirmed on the hard bed, trying to find a comfortable position. Sure. She didn't feel strongly enough about it to argue. Everything was grand, that was the main thing. They'd find out the rest soon enough. She wriggled again and the phone dug into her pocket. The jury could be back already. Twelve years. Joseph Clarke had spent twelve years raping, abusing. Terrifying his victims. If there was any justice in the world he'd spend at least that long behind bars.

‘Now! You can just wipe that off …'

Absently, she took the tissue paper Marie was holding out and began to clean up the sticky goo. Matt grinned at her.

‘We'll go for lunch, so?'

‘Yeah. Great.'

The date had been set weeks ago and they'd both taken a half-day from work to mark the occasion. Might be the last chance they'd have for a while. But that was before she got the text.

She dropped the paper in a nearby bin and fixed her clothes.

‘I just need to nip to the loo.'

It wasn't a lie, never would be at twenty weeks pregnant. But before she finished in the cubicle she took out the phone, switched it on and held her breath. The signal icon flickered before finally settling on just one bar. Come on, will you?

Beep Beep!

One word. But that was all she needed to know.

GUILTY.

She rejoined her husband, her heart beating so quickly she wondered if the baby would notice. Matt grinned at her.

‘That went well?'

‘Yeah.'

She tried to keep the words in, but it was impossible. Matt had lived through the last few months with her. He deserved to know too.

‘They found him guilty, Matt, guilty! I got a text just there …'

For a moment, her husband looked annoyed. She'd promised there'd be no talk of the case today. But then he smiled. He knew how important this was. Reaching forward, he hugged her tight.

‘I am absolutely thrilled for you. Sentence?'

‘Next week, I guess.'

She flicked on her phone again, tapped the twitter app. All of the news sites were now running the story. It had been a major case and many people had been waiting for the outcome. But none more so than her.