Crying in the Dark (25 page)

‘We know that there was abuse, at least in Malachi Byrne's past. I suspect that if we were to examine Vera's childhood, we'd probably find something awful there too. But then, maybe not. There are people who are motivated by things we'll never understand.'

‘I don't think I want to live in a world where that's the case. Pain like that has to have a reason.'

‘It's a cliché, but sometimes bad things happen to good people –
shit happens,
as the bumper sticker says.'

‘No. I can't believe that. It has to be more than just a big, twisted, cosmic joke.'

I didn't have anything useful to say. Olwyn was going through the existential crisis everyone involved in child protection experiences at some point in their lives: is there some hidden, deeper meaning behind it all, or are you just a pawn in a huge, cosmological game of chess in which there is never a winner?

‘Olwyn, you're going to have to work this one out for yourself. You've had it, probably as tough as it gets, quite early in your career, and you're asking questions any intelligent person would ask. The problem is: each of us has to come up with our own answers, ones that will fit into our personal belief systems and view of the world.'

‘How do
you
do it? What do you believe?'

‘You don't want to know what I think.'

‘Yes, I do. I'd really like to know.'

I wanted to help her, but the truth was I was fairly mixed up on this issue, and had been for a while. It was going to be hard to articulate. I took a deep breath.

‘I think there is good and bad in everyone. Most of us keep the bad parts under control, and get on with our lives and generally are nice to those around us. But some people, because they were abused or neglected or hurt in some way, or sometimes because the wiring in their heads is a bit messed up, they can't keep those bad elements in check, and they hurt; and they try to deal with all that hurting by sharing it out, giving a little bit of it to this person and that person. But that doesn't work, and the hurt just keeps getting bigger, and now there's more people hurting.'

‘If that's true, then we can't ever beat it. It's insurmountable.'

I shrugged. Maybe she was right.

‘Could be. But, you see, I'm not trying to beat it. I know I can't change the world. I used to think I could, but I know now that I can't. That's for bigger, smarter, better people than me. What I can do is try to alleviate the hurt that I encounter. You can't make it go away, but you can help people deal with it and maybe find a way to live with it. And in time, I think it
does
go away. Eventually, little by little.'

‘I don't know if I'm strong enough for this, Shane.'

‘You'll get strong.'

‘Will I?'

‘You will. But don't get too strong, okay? You've got to keep some of the softness too, or you can't do the job. The children need the softness. When you held Larry in the shed, and cried with him and for him – that's what he'll remember, because no one ever did that for him before. No one cared enough.'

‘I think I was crying for me, too.'

I patted her on the hand.

‘I know. Show me what you've been doing with the websites. Maybe you can make a
Buffy
convert of me yet.'

I parked at the gate and opened the rear doors of the Austin for Micky and Bobby. I had been out earlier, and knew exactly where Toddy Walsh's grave was situated. The municipal graveyard was a large, sprawling affair that spread over many acres. There was a map just inside the gate which was colour-coded by year of burial, and through that I had managed to locate the general area where Toddy had been interred. It had then been a process of walking up and down the paths, examining the details on the headstones until I found the right one.

Biddy had not scrimped on the grave. A statue of an angel wielding a great broadsword, carved in black marble, stood eight feet above me. The inscription on the base of the monument said:
Thomas Walsh, loving husband. Father to Robert and Michael. With much love.
The date of his birth and death were underneath. He had been thirty years old when he died.

The boys, each holding one of my hands, walked silently through the thousands of burial markers until we stood beneath the militant angel.

‘Do you know what this is, lads?' I asked them.

They shook their heads.

‘This is where your daddy is buried.'

They said nothing, looking up at the winged soldier.

‘Daddy idn't dead,' Bobby said, although he was beginning to look a little uncertain.

‘Yeah, he telled us he wadn't ready to be dead,' Micky said.

I squatted down next to them.

‘No, boys. He
is
dead. This is his grave, right here. When someone dies, the people take their body – which is what's left of you after you die – and they put it into a box and then the box goes down into a big hole in the ground. They stick statues and stones and stuff on top of it, so that people will know where to come and say prayers and remember what you were like. This is where your daddy was buried after he died.'

‘No,' Bobby said, a look of panic spreading across his face. ‘Tha's not right!'

I took him gently by the shoulders. ‘It is, Bob. You didn't go to the funeral, did you?'

‘How can he be dead?' Micky asked, wringing his hands. ‘He can't be, Shane.'

‘Your mammy didn't want to believe it. She never told you, you just thought he'd gone away. And when he didn't arrive home, you started to play a game where he
did
come back.'

‘No! It was
real,'
Micky shouted, really scared now. His small fists were bunched up and he hit me as hard as he could on the arm. ‘We sees him, so we do. He calls to
me.'

‘I bet he does, Micky. In your heart he calls all the time. But he's gone, and won't be returning. I'm sorry, I really am, but that's the truth.'

‘But we
sees
him,' Bobby said, breaking free of my hold and running a few steps away from me. ‘He's not dead. He's our daddy and he's not gone 'way.'

They were both crying hysterically, wandering in purposeless circles here and there on the path, their grief seemingly unquenchable now that it had finally been granted release.

I sat on the edge of the vast grave and allowed them to vent. Then, when the crying had eased slightly, I went to them and scooped them both up in my arms and held them, rocking them on my knees as the sobs reduced to hiccoughs and sniffles.

‘Why di'n't she tell us?' Bobby said bitterly. ‘Why haven't we seen this place 'fore?'

‘Your mammy thought she was doing the right thing,' I said to them as we sat in the quiet. ‘You were very little and she didn't think you'd be able to understand. The problem was: you never got the chance to say goodbye. How could he be gone when he never told you goodbye?'

‘He never said 'bye to us,' Micky said. ‘He was just goned.'

‘We never said 'bye t' him either,' Bobby said.

‘You can say goodbye now,' I said gently. ‘This is where he's buried. Right where we're sitting. So if you want to say anything to him, you can.'

‘Will he hear us?' Bobby said, his voice muffled by my shoulder.

‘Yeah, I think he will. It's not like before, where you thought he was answering back. Real life isn't like that. But he can hear you. You can tell him what you think and what you feel.'

The two brothers pushed themselves up, their eyes red and cheeks flushed from crying, and, hand in hand, turned to the grave. They looked so small and dejected, but I was filled with pride for them. This was a hugely difficult thing they were doing. I couldn't help – they had to do it alone.

‘Daddy,' Bobby said haltingly. ‘Daddy, we didn't know you was dead.'

‘We weren't 'lowed come when they put ya in the box and down in the ground,' Micky said. ‘That's why we never said bye-bye.'

‘But our friend Shane brunged us here, so's we could see you,' Bobby said. ‘An' we'd like to come see ya 'gain. Maybe Mammy could bring us sometime. I think she misses you a lot. We misses you.'

‘I love you, Daddy,' Micky said.

‘I love you, Dad,' Bobby said.

And I fancied that I heard a sigh, then, as something was released – a ghost finally laid to rest.

Benjamin Tyrrell and I stood in a small complex of duplexes as Sylvie unpacked her few belongings from the boot of Ben's old jeep. A woman in her late fifties with grey hair tied back into a ponytail, wearing sombre colours, was helping her. She was Bernadette, a nun with the Sisters of Perpetual Solace. One of her colleagues held Gloria while they worked.

‘I don't like this, Ben. Not one little bit,' I said out of the corner of my mouth.

‘That's your prejudices talking,' Ben said. ‘I've known Bernie for years, and she is a woman of the utmost integrity. I don't agree with her religious beliefs, and she doesn't agree with my politics, but I am telling you that Sylvie will be safe and extremely well supported here. I would not have suggested it if I didn't think she and the little one would be okay.'

‘I'll be keeping a
very
close eye on things.'

‘That's up to you. But trust me, will you? This is the best possible solution. She gets to keep Gloria, have her own place, and be given all the help she needs. There's proper security, so if her father does come back and finds her, he won't be able to gain access. Her movements will be closely monitored, so the temptation of going back onto the streets is considerably lessened. This is as good as it gets, Shane.'

Sylvie and Gloria had a two-bedroom upstairs flat. A family support worker would visit daily, and one of the sisters would be on call round the clock. Childcare was available, and Sylvie would be returning to school in September. I helped her put her things away while Ben went for coffee with Bernadette. When we had finished and the place was a little more like home, she made us a pot of tea.

‘Well, this is nice, isn't it?' I asked.

She nodded, looking bothered.

‘What's up?'

‘It's … I dunno, it's nearly
too
good. Stuff like this, it doesn't happen to me. I mean, I've got my own place, someone's going to come in to help me every day, they're sending me back to school and paying for the childcare. Shit, Shane, it's like every dream I've had over the past few years has all come true. The last time that happened, it all got fucked up real fast, y'know what I'm sayin'?'

‘Yeah, I know. But this is different. Ben knows these people, and he swears they're genuine. I'm going to be stopping by a lot, and if there's any problems, you let me know. I think you've fallen on your feet here, babe.'

She smiled and took my hand in hers. Gloria was jabbering away contentedly on the floor, playing with a set of coloured blocks Ben had brought for her.

‘You made this happen.'

‘Ben made it happen.'

‘No, you found me again. You came back and you got me. My minder.'

I smiled, feeling a sudden tug deep inside. ‘You haven't called me that in a long time.'

‘I know. I remembered you, when you came that first night by the docks. I just didn't say, 'cause I thought you were there for … for something bad. But I remembered. You used to read me
Cinderella.
I'd ask you about fairy godmothers.'

‘I told you I hoped they were real.'

‘All I wanted, back then, was to have my daddy come and get me. I used to imagine what he was like, and all the things we'd do together when he came for me. I was so stupid.'

‘No, you weren't stupid. Every child in care has those dreams.'

‘I stopped dreaming, you know, for a while. It hurt too much, and I kind of stopped caring about me. I wasn't worth it. But then Gloria came, and I started to dream again, for her. I began to wish for that fairy godmother you used to read to me about, that she'd appear in a puff of smoke and make all the bad things go away so that we could have a life. And then you came back. After all those years,
you came back.
And I had more than dreams. I had hope.'

‘There's always hope. Even that fairy godmothers might be real.'

‘I think, maybe, they are, but they come in two types: fairy godmothers and fairy godfathers.'

‘D'you reckon?'

‘Yeah. I know which kind I've got.'

I never got to testify on behalf of Larry and Francey. I was ready: I had rehearsed carefully what I was going to say. The lawyer for the Health Executive had gone over all the possible questions I would be asked, examining the revelations made by the children from every conceivable angle. On the day of the trial, I dressed in a linen suit, combed my hair and drove to the courthouse, feeling positive. There was no way Malachi and Vera Byrne could walk away from this.

I was met at the door of the main building by Marcus, the Health Executive's lawyer. He was a blond-haired, tanned young man, muscular and a little over six feet tall. He affected a slacker, surfer patois that seemed at odds with his chosen profession.

‘You might as well have stayed at home, bro,' he said, leading me to a bench just inside the lobby. ‘It's over already.'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Mr Byrne has pleaded guilty to the whole shooting match. All that's left is the sentencing, which won't happen today. You can go home.'

‘Hang on, Marcus, slow down a second. Malachi Byrne has admitted to it all?'

‘Everything that was on the table, man. Dude signed a statement last night. He's already been taken into custody.'

I was bowled over. It didn't make sense. Why would he have done such a thing? Logic suggested that he may have wanted to prevent the children any further pain by stopping the case from going to trial, but I knew him better than that. Mercy was not a part of his make-up. Then, in a flash of understanding, I knew.

‘You say Malachi signed a statement. What about Vera?'

‘She's in the clear. He's admitted to coercing her, taken the fall for everything. She walks.'

For a second, I thought I was going to faint. I felt a great chasm open up beneath me. She had double-crossed us all. Malachi Byrne was cruel and vicious and spiteful, but he verged on having an intellectual disability. Vera was the head of the serpent. It was she who was the really guilty one, who had done the coercing. And she had got away with all of it.

‘You okay, dude? You look like you're about to hurl.'

I stood up, walked as fast as I could to the door and threw my breakfast up all over a potted plant.

Bríd sat at her desk, looking tired. Even her Afro seemed half-hearted.

‘Yes, I got the news this morning, probably while you were on your way to court. I don't know what to say, Shane. I agree that this is a far from ideal outcome. But at least one of them will see the inside of a prison.'

‘That's hardly the point. Vera Byrne was the real abuser. She masterminded the whole fucking thing, was behind every torture they experienced. Malachi was a blunt instrument she used – nothing more. How are the twins going to feel when they hear? It's another insult, one more example of how worthless they are.' I suddenly realized I was shouting, and stopped, feeling embarrassed.

‘What do you want me to say? I wish I could make it different.'

‘She's dangerous, Bríd. She wants them, and she'll stop at nothing until she has them. She must
never
get them back.'

‘I know.'

I nodded. ‘Good.'

Larry, Francey and Olwyn were sitting on the grass in front of the house, looking at a book. I went out to them, slinging my jacket over my shoulder.

‘Hey,' Olwyn said.

I sat down.

‘I need to talk to you, kids,' I said. ‘It's important.'

They put down the book and turned to face me.

‘I was down at the courthouse just now. Do you know what a court is?'

‘ 'Swhere they puts bad peoples in jail,' Francey said, then laughed. ‘They puttin' you in jail?'

‘No. I was supposed to be talking to the judge about your mum and dad.'

‘Oh,' Larry said. ‘Yeah, they telled us they was goin' t' be puttin' Mam an' Dad away, a'righ'.'

‘Well, they have put your father in prison. But see, he told the judge everything that happened was his fault, and because of that, your mum maybe won't be going to jail.'

The children looked at one another.

‘She made Daddy say dat,' Francey said solemnly. ‘He always does what'n'ever she says.'

‘I knewed she wasn' goin' in no jail,' Larry said, sighing. Neither of them seemed surprised by this turn of events. It was almost as if they had always expected this was how it would go. ‘Even if they putted her in, she wouldn' stay. She'd 'scape.'

‘I don't know about that, Larry, but anyway, she's not going to jail. I just wanted you to know.'

‘When can we see her?' Francey asked.

I was taken aback by the question.

‘Do you want to see her?'