I Saw You (26 page)

‘Let me help you. This lot can be a hell of a nuisance.’ He took the box from Gwen. ‘Where’s your car?’

She jerked her head, then walked towards a red Mercedes soft-top parked under a street-light. ‘Thanks.’ She opened the door. ‘I can manage now.’

‘Would you like me to see you home? You’ve had a hard time.’

‘No, I’m fine, really. Thanks for the tea and for, well . . .’ She smiled up at him, then reached into the car to put the laptop and books on the passenger seat.

He stood back. The images kept crowding in.

She straightened up. ‘You don’t look so good either. I hope you’ll be able to sleep after all this. Don’t drink too much tonight. OK?’

He grinned at her wryly, then turned away. Johnny Harris was waiting for him.

‘Pretty woman,’ Harris remarked.

‘Yeah, but not my type. She has the world all figured out. And someone like me isn’t part of her figuring. Now,’ he put an arm around Harris’s shoulders. ‘Tell me
what you’ve been figuring. How did Mark Porter die? Was it suicide or what?’

The images wouldn’t leave him. Even when he closed his eyes he could still see them. The group of people around the fire.

‘Marina,’ he whispered, ‘how could you let this happen?
Why
did you let this happen? And why was de Paor phoning you? Why were you phoning him? Tell me, Marina, please
tell me.’

He picked up the school photograph. He thought about the faces around the fire. He tried to match them up. He could definitely recognize Rosie and Dominic de Paor. And he was almost sure he
could identify a couple of the other women. One was Gilly Kearon and there was the Honourable Sophie Fitzgerald. From the stud farm in Kildare. And who, he wondered, had been behind the camera? Who
was the witness to it all? Who wanted a record of what had happened? Who wanted to be able to say, ‘I saw you. We saw you.’

The two women walked along the West Pier in the morning sunshine. Sally’s little dog rushed ahead, then stopped to wait, his springy tail wagging, his mouth open as he
panted with the effort.

‘He tries hard, doesn’t he?’ Margaret tugged at his ears gently.

‘Yeah, he sure does.’ Sally held up a worn tennis ball. ‘Come on, Toby – look!’ She threw the ball as far as she could and the dog yapped, jumped into the air then
took off after it.

‘Would it be fun to be a dog, do you think?’ Margaret held up a hand to shade her eyes as she watched him run.

‘Fun? I’m not sure,’ Sally pushed her hair off her forehead. ‘It’s hot today. It’s not usually out here.’

‘No, it’s usually bloody freezing. My father was what you could call a daily communicant when it came to walking the pier. Winter and summer, wet and dry, freezing or not. I spent my
teenage years trying to avoid the summons to join him.’

‘Well, that’s one of the pluses about having a dog. The pier walk has to be done, whether you like it or not, so you stop considering it a choice.’ Sally put two fingers into
her mouth and gave a surprisingly loud whistle. The dog stopped and turned back.

Margaret’s expression was admiring. ‘That’s fantastic. I thought only teenage boys could whistle like that.’

Sally smiled. ‘Yeah, it’s one of the things I’m most proud of. My first husband, Robbie, showed me how to do it. When we were teenagers, when he was coming to see me and my
parents didn’t approve, he’d whistle as he walked up the road and I’d sneak out through the back garden.’

They walked, in silence then, as far as the lighthouse at the end of the pier. They sat on the granite wall and looked across the bay to Howth. The dog found a patch of shade, lay down and
panted, his sides heaving and drops of spittle forming on his shiny black lips.

‘Where’s Vanessa?’ Margaret asked. ‘I haven’t seen her for a couple of days. Has she gone off me?’

‘I doubt it. She likes you very much. Which is good. She’s not usually that impressed with people.’ She shaded her eyes against the sun. ‘I’m not sure what’s
going on with her at the moment. She’s getting up early, which she never used to do, and going out, then not coming home until late.’

‘Is it a boy?’

Sally shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. If it was I’d be pleased for her. She doesn’t have much confidence, you know. Her hippie look, the clogs, the headscarf, the
beads, it’s a disguise, really.’

‘Kids are good at disguises, aren’t they?’ Margaret followed the progress of a long, elegant yacht as it sailed into view between the two pier walls. ‘Mary was much
better at it than I’d thought.’

‘In what way?’

‘Well, it was very strange. After she died I discovered all kinds of things about her that I hadn’t known. I discovered she’d had an abortion. I discovered she’d had a
number of boyfriends in New Zealand whom I’d never met. And, of course, there was her relationship with . . .’ She stopped and stared at the ground. She swallowed hard, the lump heavy
in her throat. ‘. . . the man who killed her.’

‘A relationship? Could you call it that?’ Sally turned to look at her.

‘Yes, it was a relationship. Not one that I would have wanted. Not one that was healthy or worthwhile or any of the good things. But it was a relationship. He knew a version of Mary that I
didn’t. And that was one of the things that really hurt.’ She clenched her fists and drummed them on her thighs. ‘He knew her in a way that I didn’t. He told me things about
her that I didn’t know.’

‘He told you? You met him?’ Sally’s voice was shocked.

Margaret nodded. She stared out across the sea at the yacht. It was on a run. Its spinnaker was flying, a bright design of reds and blues, the wind pushing it into a great, swelling billow.

‘I met him. I spoke to him.’ It was on the tip of her tongue to say, ‘I killed him.’

‘How? Under what circumstances? After he was freed?’

‘Before and after, but I don’t want to go into it now. It’s difficult to talk about. But it made me realize how little I knew Mary.’ She pushed herself up to
standing.

‘But was he telling you the truth?’ Sally got up too. ‘Are you sure he wasn’t lying? To justify what he did to her.’

‘He was lying about some things, but not about others. I had to accept it. There were just some parts of Mary that I didn’t know. You must have found that about Marina since she
died, haven’t you? Haven’t you discovered that she was a different person?’

‘Not really. I think I know all about Marina. She wasn’t perfect, but that doesn’t matter.’ Sally stooped to catch the dog’s collar.

‘It didn’t matter to me either. That’s not what I’m saying. My love for Mary was as deep and powerful as ever. I was just sorry that I wasn’t able to talk to her
any more. That we weren’t able to continue our friendship. I always thought we would be friends as she got older. That we would share our lives. Even if she got married, had her own children,
that we would always be close. But . . .’

They began to walk back along the pier. The gravel was dusty underfoot. Again there was silence. It was even hotter. Margaret was tired. Sally threw the ball for the little dog. He scampered
backwards and forwards, tail wagging, high-pitched yelps of pleasure coming from his mouth.

‘You know, don’t you,’ Sally said, ‘that we were all very interested in what happened to your daughter? Not just because it was sad and awful, but because Patrick Holland
was the defence barrister. We knew him very well. And when he took on the case I phoned him and asked him how he could do it.’

‘And what did he say?’ Margaret turned to her.

‘He said that everyone was entitled to a defence. That was the law. Innocent until proven guilty, no matter what the crime. I said to him – I remember because I was really angry
– “You don’t honestly believe that, do you?”’ She threw the ball again. ‘And he said he was surprised I was challenging his argument, given that I, too, had
needed an advocate after James’s first wife had had our marriage declared illegal and I had gone to court to get maintenance for Vanessa. And he had been my barrister.’

‘Was he? Did Patrick help you?’ Margaret stopped.

‘Yes, he was very kind. And he did it for nothing. I wanted to pay him, but he wouldn’t take any money. It was a terrible time. I hadn’t realized what the process of going to
court would be like. And Helena, James’s first wife, she turned up every day. Watched it all. Watched me. It was horrible.’ Sally turned towards the sea. ‘I’m so lucky to
live here, you know. The case went on for ages. It kept on being adjourned, put off, put back, I don’t know what. When I came home I’d change, get the dog, put Vanessa in her buggy and
we’d come down here. There’s something very cleansing about sea air. I don’t know what it is, but it gets rid of a lot of shit.’

She held up the old tennis ball. The dog barked and sprang high. She threw it as hard as she could. They watched the little animal scrabble after it.

‘Anyway, we got through it. And I told you, didn’t I, how I got something for Vanessa?’

‘Yes, you did. The cottage in Wicklow she’ll inherit when she’s eighteen. And that’s soon, isn’t it?’ The dog had found the ball and was running back to
them.

‘Next week. But Marina died almost within sight of it, and now I don’t want Vanessa to have anything to do with the place. I’d like her to sell it.’ The dog dropped the
ball at her feet. He was panting loudly. Sally patted his head, then picked up the ball again. ‘In fact, we had a bit of a row about it last night. I said that to her and she got indignant.
Said it was nothing to do with me. That I wasn’t a de Paor, so what did I know about anything?’ She smiled. ‘Funny, isn’t it, when your kids start telling you what’s
what? So that’s the way it stands. She’s a de Paor. I’m not. I suppose she’s entitled to her membership of the family. That’s what Patrick would have said anyway. If
he was here.’

‘You knew him well?’

‘Pretty well. I remember, when I first met him I didn’t like him. I thought he didn’t approve of me. He was always abrupt and brusque. But when I got to know him better I
realized that was just his way. Underneath it all he was lovely. Of course, you probably wouldn’t agree.’

Margaret stopped. She felt light-headed. The sun was very hot on the nape of her neck. ‘No, I liked him too. I knew him, as it happens, from a long time ago.’

‘Did you?’ Sally turned to look at her. ‘How?’

‘Oh, you know. We had friends in common.’ Friends who had invited her to a Christmas party. Somewhere out in County Meath. They had arranged a lift for her. Patrick arrived. He was
on his own. He made it plain he wasn’t pleased to have a passenger imposed on him. He didn’t speak much as they drove out of the city and through the winter countryside. He didn’t
speak much to her at the party either. She was relieved when she found some of her own friends. But somehow, later on, they danced. And when he held her it was as if no other man had ever touched
her. And later on when he drove her home, he stopped the car and kissed her. And it was as if no other man had ever kissed her. And when he asked if he could see her again, she said yes without
thinking that he was married, that he had a child. None of that mattered. And when she got pregnant with Mary all that mattered was that she had a part of him. And she would hold on to that part
for ever.

‘So what did you think when you saw he was defending that man?’ Sally’s face was a mixture of curiosity and anguish.

What did I think? I thought he would help me get justice my way. That’s what I thought. Margaret chewed her lip. ‘I thought he was doing his job, that’s all. I thought that
justice is a legal concept. It has nothing to do with what you or I might consider to be justice. What the court considers to be justice is the evidence that can be brought and proven. That’s
all it is, plain and simple. And anyone who expects anything else from the court is a fool.’ Her voice was bitter.

‘Is that really what you think?’

‘Yes, it is. You have to get your own justice in whatever way you can. You can’t expect the state to do it for you. The way the courts function, it’s a game that clever men
play with other people’s lives. You must know that, Sally. You lived with a barrister. You must have seen what he did. How many of the men he defended had killed? And how many walked away
from the court as free men?’

Sally didn’t reply immediately. She stared at the water. Flotsam had piled up against the rocks. Plastic bottles and chunks of white polyboard. A doll’s head, the size and shape of a
baby’s, floated beside a rotten orange. It gave her a start. She caught her breath. Then she spoke: ‘James was an honourable man,’ she said slowly. ‘He had beliefs and
principles. I respected them. He made me think about this country in a different way. He made me understand the nature of the repression of Catholics in Northern Ireland. He cared deeply about
those men who had been driven to violence. He didn’t judge or blame them. He considered that their actions were political. They were motivated by the desire for political change, by greed or
selfishness or the pursuit of pleasure. And he, like Patrick, was determined that they should have the best defence possible.’

Margaret didn’t reply. There was no reply she could make. She who had killed too. She who had not paid for her crime. She who was still alive, here in the sunshine, with the wind on her
face and the smell of the sea in her nostrils. Jimmy Fitzsimons had suffered in agony, on his own, in the dark shed at Ballyknockan. She reached for Sally’s hand and squeezed it. Sally smiled
at her and squeezed back. They walked on towards the railway line and the path home, the little dog running happily ahead.

They lay in the garden on deckchairs. A bottle of white wine, beaded with condensation, rested in a cooler. The dog drowsed in a pool of shade beneath the apple tree. His eyes
were closed. His small paws twitched and he whined softly in his sleep. The smell of honeysuckle wafted down from the wall that bounded the garden. Margaret’s father had shown her how to suck
nectar from the stamens when they had gone on holiday to West Cork. Wandering along country lanes, pulling honeysuckle from the hedgerows, bending his face to the roses as she twisted ripe
blackberries from the briars, her fingers stained purple. It was years since she had eaten a blackberry. They were rooted out in Australia, poisoned, burned as a noxious weed. And she would not eat
another, she thought. By the time they were ripe she would have made her choice and she would not be able to wander the fields and pick them.