How to Fall in Love (33 page)

‘So
…’ Barry said, backing away.

I didn’t know what else to say. He walked up the steps to ground level and I started to close the door.

‘You were right about us,’ I heard him say suddenly. ‘We weren’t exciting or romantic, we never went anywhere very much and we probably never would. We didn’t laugh like Julie and Jack, or travel the world like Sarah and Luke. We probably wouldn’t have had four kids like Lucy and John.’ He threw his hands up. ‘I don’t know, Christine, I liked how we were. I’m sorry you didn’t.’ His voice cracked and so he took a moment. I opened the door wider to see him.

‘I’ve wished for the past month for you to be miserable, absolutely in the depths of hell. And now I see you like this – I can’t feel that any more. You look worse than I do.’ He shook his head. ‘If you left me because you thought this would be an improvement, then we were worse off than I thought. I pity you.’

That set me off again. He took off down the road. I closed the door and returned to bed to hide from the world.

A few hours later and I still hadn’t moved. I was hungry but I knew there was nothing to eat in the flat and I couldn’t face going out to the shops, looking and feeling as I did.

My phone started ringing and I checked the screen to see who I was ignoring. Detective Maguire. I was definitely ignoring it. It stopped and then started again. I stared at the ceiling, my heart beating wildly. It only returned to a regular pace when the ringing stopped. I waited for the ringing to end and put it on silent.

The phone rang again.

‘Leave a message,’ I growled.

I got out of bed, feeling dizzy when I stood up. Then I thought about Adam and I panicked. Maybe he had done something. I dived for the phone and hit the button to return the last call.

‘Maguire,’ he barked.

‘It’s Christine. Is Adam okay?’

‘Adam?’

‘The man from the bridge.’

‘Why, did you lose him?’

Kind of.
But I sighed with relief that he wasn’t hurt.

‘Listen, I need you at Crumlin Hospital now. Can you come?’

‘Crumlin?’ I stalled. It was a children’s hospital.

‘Yes, Crumlin,’ he snapped. ‘Can you come? Now?’

‘Why?’

‘Because I’m asking you to.’

I was totally confused. ‘I can’t, I, er
… I can’t right now.’ I searched for a lie but couldn’t bring myself to do it. ‘I’m not feeling good today.’

‘Well, snap out of it, because there’s someone here who feels a whole lot worse.’

‘What is this about? I don’t have to go any—’

‘Jesus, Christine,’ he said, and it came out almost a sob. ‘I need you to get your ass down here.’

‘Are you okay?’

‘Just get here,’ he said. ‘Please.’

25

How to Ask for Help Without Losing Face

Detective Maguire was waiting for me at the main entrance to the hospital. As soon as he saw me, he did what he had done every other time I’d met him and turned around and walked away. I took the cue to follow him. I jogged to catch up, and as I did I looked around for his partner. I didn’t see him. In fact there was no other back-up whatsoever. I rounded the corner and found it devoid of Detective Maguire. A whistle had me running to the open elevator like the dog he seemed to think I was. I joined him and it was then I saw how awful he looked and my stomach churned, sensing the worst scenario ever. I gulped, trying to steady myself; I was not able for all of this, not so soon after losing Simon, after messing up so spectacularly with Adam, after having to deal with Barry. I needed a day alone, but nobody seemed willing to grant me that small favour. I needed to wallow; much could be achieved from wallowing. Perhaps that’s what my book could be about. Christine Rose’s
How to Wallow in Your Despair in Five Easy Ways
.

‘You look terrible,’ I said to him.

‘You’re not too perky yourself,’ he said, without his usual malice. He was going through the motions, barely engaging. Something was most certainly wrong. More wrong than usual.

‘Who am I going to see?’ I asked.

‘My daughter,’ he said, his voice hollow, empty. ‘She tried to kill herself.’

My mouth fell open and he stepped out of the elevator and rounded the corner. I had to snap out of my shock before the doors closed and the lift descended. I followed him.

‘Uh, Detective, I’m very sorry to hear that, truly I am …’ I swallowed. ‘But can I ask, why did you bring me here?’

‘I want you to talk to her for me.’

‘What? Wait!’ I finally reached out and grabbed him by the arm and stopped him in his tracks. ‘You want me to what?’

‘Talk to her,’ he said, revealing his bloodshot eyes. ‘There’s people here, but she won’t talk to them. She won’t say two words. I thought of you. Don’t ask me why, I mean I don’t know you, but you seem to have a way with this kind of thing and I’m too close to it, I can’t …’ He shook his head, his eyes welling up.

‘Detective—’

‘Aidan,’ he interrupted.

‘Aidan,’ I said softly, appreciating the gesture. ‘I’m not able. I didn’t help Simon Conway, and with Adam I
…’ I didn’t want to get into what had happened with Adam.

‘You managed to get Simon to allow you to call us,’ he said. ‘That was good. You talked Adam Basil off the bridge, and he asked for you after that. I’ve seen you with him, in the station – he respects you. Plus I know what happened with your mother,’ he added.

I looked down. ‘Oh.’

‘You know about this. Just talk to her, please.’

I followed him through the ward, a series of corridors and confusing turns until finally he brought me into the ward. Of the twelve beds in the room, only one had curtains pulled around it completely.

I slowly drew back the curtain and came face to face with Maguire’s wife, Judy, her eyes rimmed with red as she held the hand of the girl in the bed. I looked at the girl: thick auburn hair like her dad, honest crystal-blue eyes like her mother.

‘Caroline,’ I said gently. The girl’s left wrist had been heavily bandaged and lay on the bed, her mother held her right hand tight.

‘Who are you?’ Judy asked, slowly getting to her feet but still not letting go of her daughter’s hand.

‘Aidan called me,’ I said.

She nodded then and looked down at her daughter. I saw Detective Maguire’s face crumble in the moment before he turned away and walked out of the ward, as if embarrassed by his display of emotion.

‘Why don’t you get some coffee?’ I suggested to Judy. ‘Caroline, is it okay if I sit with you for a while?’

Caroline looked at me uncertainly. Judy was still hanging on to her hand.

‘I think maybe your mum could do with a break. I bet she’s been here for a while.’

Caroline gave her a nod and I helped Judy let go of her hand. As soon as she stepped away, I pulled the curtain across and sat down beside Caroline.

‘My name is Christine. I know your dad.’

Caroline eyed me warily. ‘Do you work here?’

‘No.’

‘So I don’t have to talk to you.’

‘No. You don’t.’

She was silent as she mulled it over. ‘They keep sending people to talk to me. Asking me why, why, why. They left a bunch of leaflets. They’re disgusting. Insinuating disgusting things.’

‘What kinds of things?’

‘Like, did my dad touch me – stuff like that. I mean, they didn’t say it in so many words, but I could tell they were wondering. Then they gave me all these leaflets. I’ve seen the shows.’

‘I’m not going to ask you anything like that, believe me. I’m not a doctor, I’m not a therapist. I want to talk, that’s all. It sounds like you’ve had a really hard time and I want to listen to you, without judgement.’

‘Are you a garda?’

‘No.’

The girl gave me a sidelong look, then played with the sheets on the bed with her good hand. The other remained limp and unmoving. ‘So why did my dad ask you to come?’

‘Because he knows that when I was young my mother killed herself.’

She looked at me then, gave me her full attention.

‘She killed herself when I was four years old. So I understand what it’s like, to live with someone who felt the way you do.’

‘Oh.’ She looked down at her bandage. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘I understand why you don’t want to talk to your parents. It’s embarrassing, isn’t it? My dad is still embarrassing and I’m thirty-three years old.’

Caroline smiled weakly.

‘But that’s why it’s okay if you want to talk to me. I won’t judge you, I won’t tell you that you shouldn’t have done this or done that, I’ll just listen. Sometimes it helps to talk, to say things out loud. And if you don’t know where to turn or who to talk to, you can ask me and I’ll do whatever I can to help. There’s always someone to turn to, Caroline. And we can keep it between the two of us – you won’t have to worry about me telling anybody you don’t want to know.’

Caroline’s face crumpled and she started to cry. She tried to hide behind her good wrist, leaving the other one lying flat on the bed as if it had been forgotten, as if it had died in the attempt. Her shoulders shook as she was wracked with sobs.

‘I didn’t think there was anyone,’ she admitted.

‘Now you know,’ I said gently, giving her a tissue. ‘There is always someone to hear you and help you. Always.’

She wiped her eyes, composed herself, seemed to think about things.

‘I slit my wrists,’ she said. She lifted her hand up and showed me her bandage as if I hadn’t noticed it already. ‘I suppose you think I’m a crazy person.’ She studied me.

I shook my head.

‘I went online and found out how to do it. I used my razor, but it was too difficult. It took me too long to break the skin. And it hurt. Nothing was happening to me, even though it was bleeding. I was lying there on the bed, waiting to die, but nothing happened. It just hurt. I had to go back online and see what I’d done wrong. Eventually I went downstairs to Mum to show her because I was scared.’ She kept crying. ‘Mum was screaming at me:
What did you do? What did you do?
And I swear I wanted to go upstairs and do it again so I could die and not have to see the way she looked at me. I felt like a freak. Dad won’t stop asking me why. I’ve never seen him so angry. It’s like he wants to kill me.’

‘He doesn’t want to kill you, Caroline. He’s shocked and scared and all he wants to do is to protect you. Your parents want to make things better. They want to understand so that they can help.’

‘They’ll kill me.’ She started sobbing again. ‘Is that how you felt? Did you hate your mum?’

‘No,’ I said soothingly, tears coming to my eyes at the hazy memories of Dad coming home from the hospital, a fake jolly look in his eye as if they’d been on holiday, and Mum lying out on a deck chair in the back garden, fully clothed in the pouring rain because she wanted to ‘feel something’. Even when she was in the room with me it felt like she wasn’t there at all. I loved her, all I wanted was to sit with her, be with her. I would hold her hand and wonder if she even noticed I was there. ‘I never hated her, not for one minute.’ I left a silence. ‘Why was it so unbearable for you? What happened?’

‘I can’t tell them. Anyway, they’ll find out soon enough. I’m surprised they don’t know already. Every day I’d come home from school and I’d be waiting for them to realise. I was terrified. At school everyone knows, everyone’s looking at me, laughing at me, saying stuff to me. Even my own friends. I had no one – no one who would help me, no one who’d talk to me. Not even Aisling
…’ she trailed off, confusion and betrayal all over her face.

‘Aisling’s your friend?’

‘Was. She was my best friend. Since we were five. She wouldn’t even look at me. For a whole month. First it was everyone else and she was still my friend, but then it got worse: they started leaving things in my locker, gross things, they kept saying stuff on Facebook, spreading lies. Then they started dragging Aisling too, saying stuff about her too. She blamed me for what was happening and then she stopped being my friend. I mean, how could she?’

‘Something happened that everyone found out about?’ I guessed.

She nodded, tears streaming down her face.

‘Online?’

She nodded again. Then she was surprised. ‘Do you know?’

‘No. You’re not the first person it’s happened to, Caroline. Were you
… in a compromised position?’

‘He told me it would just be for us,’ she said, her face crimson. ‘And I believed him. And then a friend of mine texted me and said it was up on Facebook, and then everyone started ringing me. Some were laughing about it, some were really angry, calling me a whore and all sorts – people I thought were my friends. I went online to see it and I swear I was sick.
I
don’t even want to see me doing that, never mind strangers. It was meant to be for a laugh, for us. I didn’t think he would show anyone. I thought maybe a friend had taken his phone and done it, or it had been hacked, but …’

‘What did he say?’

‘He wouldn’t talk to me, wouldn’t even look at me. Then one day I got hold of him, told him how I felt about it, how I couldn’t go on any more, and he just looked at me and laughed. He
laughed
. He couldn’t understand why I was so upset. He said I should be happy. That loads of celebs have become famous because of it and now they’re millionaires. I mean, we live in fucking Crumlin! How famous are we going to become? Where’s our millions after that?’ She started crying again.

‘Were you and him having sex, Caroline?’

She was mortified by the question and it took her a while to tell me: she’d been giving him a blow-job, while they were at a house party one night, and they’d both had too much to drink. It was his idea to film it. He’d already started filming her before she had a chance to object, and when she saw the camera was on her she didn’t want to stop, she didn’t want to look like a ‘wuss’.

‘When did this happen?’ I asked, anger rising in me. If I felt like this, I could imagine Detective Maguire’s reaction. He’d make life hell for the boy with the camera phone, but after what he’d done that boy should consider himself lucky if Maguire at least let him live. I didn’t envy Caroline, being a teenager nowadays; the landscape of issues such as trust and intimacy and sex had completely changed since I was her age, leaving boys and girls navigating a minefield.