Charlie Fleming steered her red Mini Cooper through the gates of her old home at Milton Aston and skidded to a halt on the gravel outside the front door. The place had never been much of a home to her and she wasn’t sorry it was being sold. Her parents had moved there while she was at university and after she graduated, she only used it as a base from which to find her own flat.
She couldn’t live with her mother; her drinking and bipolar disorder made that impossible and her father was never there, so engrossed was he with his boring business, he was just as much a stranger to her. She’d never had a particularly happy childhood even in the old house where she grew up and she vowed her own children, if and when they arrived, would not suffer the same neglect and lack of attention that she did.
Despite that, she still loved her dad. He’d been all over her like a rash since Natalie had died and especially after he’d sold the business. He could still be profoundly irritating at times, but that was just a generation thing. She had to accept old people behaved differently and would never change.
She let herself into the house and marched straight up the stairs to her room, carrying three empty plastic storage boxes. She foraged around in drawers and cupboards, stopping to hold an item of clothing against her in front of the mirror and either discard it or toss in a box. She filled one box and then carried it downstairs to the hallway, leaving it by the front door. She noticed she must have left it ajar and went to close it, but sensed movement behind her.
A plastic bag descended like a curtain over her face and the weight of a body pressed her against the front door. She tried to shriek but the air inside the bag was instantly hot and steamy and she couldn’t fill her lungs. She struggled in the grip of her invisible assailant but was twisted around to see through the misty haze of plastic, another black, shadowy shape in front of her. The plastic was sucked into her mouth as her lungs desperately searched for air, the terror of suffocation consuming every fibre of her being. Her knees sagged and she crumpled to the floor, a heavy body on top of her back and then, without warning, the bag was gone and she was gulping cool fresh air, her chest heaving despite the weight on her back.
She whimpered and began to cry and felt a hand on the back of her neck pressing her face to the floor, one eye catching a glimpse of the figure in black sitting astride her. The other one went down on his haunches and stroked her hair. She began to scream but the plastic bag reappeared, enveloping her face, stifling any noise beyond a muffled groan. Her body twitched in spasms as her strength subsided and this time, the terror was complete with the certain realisation she was going to die. But just before she passed out, the bag lifted again and a cold shower of clean air filled her lungs, making her chest heave as she inhaled long and deep, the strain of breathing excruciatingly painful.
“Now wee lassie. If you scream again, my friend here will put the bag over your face and maybe next time, he won’t take it off.” Irish voice, calm, comforting but sinister. “We’re not goin’ to do you any harm. We just want to have a wee word with your daddy. Do you understand?” She couldn’t speak. She was too afraid to say anything. She just prayed the bad dream would end and she would somehow wake up in her own bed. He tugged hard on her hair. “Do you understand?” She heard the rustle of plastic and managed to open her mouth, but her throat burned, and her voice croaked.
“Yes!” she gasped, still feeling breathless and lightheaded.
“Now listen. We’re all goin’ for a wee ride and then we’ll call your daddy and have wee chat with him and be on our way. Okay?” She tried to nod but her face was still pressed against the floor. The weight on her back suddenly lifted and something grabbed the waistband of her jeans, hoisting her to her feet, but her knees were weak, and she lost balance. A leather clad arm appeared around her waist and spun her; a rough hand gripped her throat, pushing her head back.
He was in his forties, short hair, unshaven and sweaty and he gave her a sly smile, exposing uneven yellow teeth. “Put your wrists together,” said the one behind her, plucking her phone from the back pocket of her jeans.
A plastic strap was pulled tight around her wrists and tape wrapped around her head, covering her mouth and ears and trapping her long hair. They bundled her out of the house and into the boot of the BMW. “If we hear any noise from you, we’ll be very cross, so we will.” The man bending over her waved a plastic bag over her head. He was old and grey, dressed in black and equally sweaty and unshaven as his pal. The boot lid slammed down towards her and she was plunged into darkness.
***
He helped her down the steps onto the tree lined embankment of North Dock and sat her down on a stainless-steel bench. She hugged the yellow padded envelope to her chest as if it were the most precious thing she owned and stared across the short stretch of water as if in a trance. He felt powerless to help her but knew this was no medical emergency. She had experienced something unexpected and traumatic in the vault and he needed to know what.
“Caitlín, whatever it is, you must tell me. If you tell me I can help you.” He knew she could hear him, but she ignored his plea. He tried to put an arm around her shoulder but she shrugged him off. “Caitlín…for God’s sake.” She turned her head to look at him and the look of sorrow turned to fury.
“Leave me alone! Do you hear me? Just leave me alone. Go back to your world and leave me in mine. I want nothin’ more to do with you or anyone else.” She focused her gaze on the water and tightened her grip on the envelope. She’d played the dismissive role before, but this time it sounded less like she was trying to protect him and more like she was trying to protect herself. He couldn’t imagine what had caused her extreme change of attitude, but whatever it was, he had no intention of abandoning her. The air was cold despite the bright sunshine and a light breeze blew across the water adding to the chill. He craved coffee and somewhere warm to sit.
“I’m not going anywhere, so you can shout and scream at me as much as you like. I’m sorry you’re upset, but I don’t know why and as usual, you’re not telling so I’ll just have to wait until you’re ready.” She turned back to face him, and the boiling rage spilled over.
“Upset? Is that what you think? Upset doesn’t come anywhere near it. I’ve been upset before and I know what upset feels like. This isn’t feckin’ upset. This is my worst feckin’ nightmare and you know what? I wouldn’t be in this feckin’ nightmare if it wasn’t for you. I told you not to get involved. I told you, you didn’t know what you were dealin’ with. And guess what? I was absolutely feckin’ right, but the laugh is, I had no feckin’ idea what I was dealin’ with either. But now I do. And it’s all your fault for stickin’ yer feckin’ nose in my business. If you had just left me alone, I’d still be in my wee cottage with my cosy log fire and my view over the loch and all that chaos Eamonn had unleashed would be happenin’ somewhere else. But there you are, sittin’ all alone in your feckin’ rich man’s house wallowin’ in self-pity, thinkin’ your wife killed hersel’ because of you. That wasn’t enough for you was it? You had to go chasin’ after the first bit of fanny you see so you can ruin her life as well. You brought those feckers to my door, you put me in danger, and you made me tell you all that shite about me and Eamonn and the next thing I’m starin’ into a feckin’ abyss and you’re still here, refusin’ to feck off until I tell you more. Well, I’ll tell you this. That feckin’ water there looks pretty feckin’ invitin’ to me, so how would you like another notch on your belt?”
She turned back to the water and he watched the cold wind lick at her red hair tossing several loose strands in the breeze. Jack Fleming had never before been savaged by such an emotional storm. Even in her darkest hour Natalie had never expressed any wish to end her life nor even alluded to it. There was no overt cry for help, no tantrum, no rage, no obvious distress or sign that she needed help and afterwards, he’d assumed people like Natalie kept their demons hidden, so no one could pretend to give them hope, when they knew there was none.
Caitlín’s attack could not have been more personal or hurtful, but it carried a ring of truth. She may well have been better off left alone, but that was no longer a theory he could put to the test and as ever, the more she tried to push him away, the more he resisted. She’d insisted it was for his own benefit; there was nothing to be gained and everything to lose by his being involved. She’d said she had problems he couldn’t solve; problems which, if known, would simply infect him with the same curse. Yet he’d persisted and although he had no evidence her warnings to him were well founded, the result had made things worse for her. Her impassioned outburst suggested she was right about that. He was filled with remorse that a genuine attempt to alleviate her situation had instead exacerbated it. And still, despite the blows, despite the insults, hatred, contempt and vitriol she threw at him, he would not be diverted. If she was a lost soul, then so was he.
“Last night, you asked why I chased after you. It wasn’t some perverse desire to cause you grief or anxiety, repeat my abject failure as a husband or even seek redemption. I chased after you because I knew you were in trouble and I thought I could help; I wanted to help. Yes, it looks like I made things worse for you in the short term, but I think the people who want to hurt you would have found you anyway and I can’t let them find you now. I’m not going to let that happen.” He pointed at the freezing black water of North Dock. “And if you throw yourself in there, I’ll just jump in after you and pull you out. I won’t let any harm come to you. So however bad it is, you’d better share it now before we waste any more time.”
“Why?”
“You know why.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Because I love you.”
Her head slowly tipped forward and her body closed around the yellow padded bag gripping it tightly to her chest as if it were the only thing in the world she owned or treasured. He reached out a hand and placed it on the back of her neck, fearing another violent reaction, but she remained still as he stroked her hair.
“Eamonn loved you too, I would hazard a guess.”
“He would do. He was my brother.”