Authors: Joy Fielding
“Think you’re really smart, don’t you? Think you’re so superior.”
“No, I—”
“You’re no better than anybody else.”
“I never said I was.”
“No, but you think it.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“I’m not stupid, you know.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You don’t have to say it.”
“I don’t think you’re stupid.”
“Do you think I’m smart then?”
“I don’t think my daughter would be interested in you if you weren’t,” Marcy said, trying to bring the focus of the conversation back to Devon.
Jax smiled. “I guess she does think I’m pretty smart.”
Another lengthy pause, another interlude of heavy rain.
“Do you mind my asking what your relationship is with my daughter?” Marcy strained to sound casual, as if she were asking only as a way to pass the time.
“Yeah, I mind.”
More silence, interrupted only by the sound of the wipers working furiously across the front windshield.
“Are you askin’ if we’re lovers?” Jax said as they passed a sign announcing they were within twenty kilometers of the town of Skibbereen. “Is that what you’re wantin’ to know?”
“Are you?” Marcy obliged him by asking, a sick sensation in the pit of her stomach.
“We were once. Not so much anymore.”
“Why is that? Is she with someone else?”
Jax shrugged, his leather jacket crinkling noisily around his ears. “You’d have to ask Audrey.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m not tellin’,” he said, sounding all of six years old.
More silence as the small car twisted along the narrow
single-lane road, speeding beside rivers and around mountains, through valleys and tiny fishing villages. Where the hell was he taking her?
“The day you ran me down with your bicycle,” she said, watching his jaw tighten and fingers stiffen on the wheel, “you had to know where I was, you had to have been following me.”
“You should have seen yourself. You were so pathetic. ‘Excuse me,’ ” he said mockingly, raising his voice at least an octave while his eyes remained resolutely on the road ahead, ‘but do any of you recognize this picture? It’s my daughter. Do you recognize her? Can you help me?’ ” He snickered.
“Who told you to follow me?”
He said nothing.
“Whose idea was it to trash my hotel room?”
Still nothing.
“Who told you to destroy my things?”
He shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of a pesky fly.
“Why did you do those things?” Marcy asked.
He glanced over in her direction, lowering his chin and lifting his eyebrows. “We were kinda hopin’ it would be enough to convince you to go back home.”
“And stealing my earrings?”
“Oh, that one was all my idea,” Jax said proudly. “Saw ’em lyin’ there. Couldn’t resist.”
“You gave them to Shannon,” Marcy stated.
“And didn’t she look lovely in ’em?” He pulled the car to a sudden stop in the middle of the narrow roadway.
Marcy’s first thought was that he was going to kill her and throw her body off the side of one of the surrounding cliffs. No one will ever know what happened to me. I’ll simply disappear.
Like Devon, she thought.
She looked frantically out her side window, seeing nothing but fog. “Why did you stop? Where are we? Is Devon here?”
To her surprise, Jax burst out laughing. “Can’t quite picture your daughter out gallivantin’ with a bunch of sheep. Can you?” He motioned out the front window at the herd of sheep slowly emerging from the fog to cross at the unmarked rural intersection. “Not exactly her ‘demographic,’ ” he added pointedly as Marcy watched the sheep disappear down an almost invisible country lane.
Ten minutes later, the last of the sheep gone, he threw the car back into gear, shifting clumsily from first to fourth in seconds, the car jerking its displeasure as it picked up speed.
“Is it much farther?” Marcy asked, her bladder pushing at her side. “I could use a bathroom.”
She expected to be either ignored or rebuked. Instead he said, “There’s a place a few kilometers down where we can stop.”
“I’d appreciate it, thank you.”
“I do like to be appreciated. You’re welcome.” He laughed.
He was still chuckling when they pulled up in front of an old turquoise-painted alehouse that materialized from out of nowhere on the side of the road, its windowsills lined with flower boxes, the flowers all but collapsing under the steady downpour. Smoke was rising from its stone chimney, mingling with the fog. “You got two minutes,” Jax told her, grabbing Marcy’s arm as she was about to open her car door. “I’ll be standin’ right outside the door. Don’t do anything stupid.”
“Like what?” Marcy asked incredulously. What was he expecting her to do? Make a run for it?
“Like try to call anyone.”
“You threw away my phone, remember?”
“Any funny business, you’ll never see your daughter again.”
“You’ve been watching too much television,” she told him, exiting the car.
“Yes, Mommy,” he sneered, following after her. “I’ve been a very bad boy, Mommy. You going to spank me?”
Marcy’s response was to run for the entrance. Even though the distance was less than six feet from car to pub, she was thoroughly soaked by the time she got inside. The first thing she saw was a roaring fireplace, and she fought the urge to collapse into one of two rickety-looking rocking chairs in front of it. Her legs were weak from sitting in the cramped front seat of Jax’s car for so long, her knees threatening to buckle under her. How much farther did they have to go? Was he really taking her to see her daughter?
“Would you just look at you,” a pretty red-haired waitress exclaimed. “You look frozen to death. Go stand by the fire, luv. Get warm.”
“Don’t have time,” Jax said, coming up behind Marcy and resting a heavy hand on her shoulder. “Me mum’s in need of a toilet,” he announced to the six men gathered at the bar. Marcy winced, then followed the waitress’s raised finger toward the washroom at the back of the dimly lit room. “I’ll have a Guinness,” she heard Jax say.
“Should you be drinking?” Marcy asked when they were back in the car, the open bottle of beer planted firmly between Jax’s sturdy thighs. “I would have thought the driving’s tough enough—”
“Don’t think.”
Don’t think
, she heard Sarah say.
Just swing
.
“I just meant—”
“Not interested in what you meant.” He took a long sip of
his beer, and then another, as if to underscore his point. “Uh-oh. I’m forgettin’ me manners,” he said, waving the bottle under her nose. “You want a sip? Don’t be shy, now.”
Marcy turned her head aside, the smell of the beer causing her stomach to lurch. “How much longer?” she asked after another few minutes. It felt as if they’d been driving forever.
“Not much.” He turned down a narrow side road, tossing the now-empty beer bottle into some high grass as he edged the car up the side of a steep cliff. “Too bad it’s so wet and miserable out there. You can’t appreciate the view. It’s pretty spectacular once you reach the top.”
Even with the wind and the rain, Marcy could hear the waves of the Celtic Sea hitting the rocks below. Where the hell was he taking her? “Where are we?” she asked.
He surprised her by answering, “Roaringwater Bay. Good name, eh?”
What was Devon doing in a place called Roaringwater Bay?
She isn’t here, Marcy realized with a certitude that almost took her breath away. The boy had never had any intention of taking her to her daughter. In all likelihood, he was spiriting her as far away from Devon as possible. On Devon’s instructions? she wondered. Had this whole elaborate charade been Devon’s idea? Was everything? Does she hate me that much? Marcy wondered.
Please know how much I love you, how much I’ve always loved you, and how much I always will
.
“Did she ever talk about me?” Marcy asked, the question falling from her mouth before she even realized it was forming.
“Audrey?” Jax asked, as if Marcy might have been referring to someone else.
“Her name is Devon,” Marcy said, correcting him.
“She’s Audrey to me.”
“Did she ever talk about … when she was Devon?” Marcy asked tentatively.
“Nah.” The boy shrugged. “Said there wasn’t much to talk about.”
“She never mentioned her brother?”
“Didn’t know she had one.”
“Or her father, or her aunt?”
“The one who was married six times?”
“Five,” Marcy corrected him absently, feeling a stab of unexpected jealousy.
“Said she had a grandma who killed herself.”
“My mother.”
“Know what happened to
my
ma?” Jax asked, almost proudly.
Marcy shook her head.
“My da killed her.”
“What?”
“It’s the God’s honest truth. He came home drunk one night,” Jax stated casually, as if he were talking about the inclement weather. “And my ma started in on him, accusin’ him of stealin’ the money she had hidden away, money she made from cleanin’ other people’s houses, and they got into it, as riproarin’ a fight as any of us eight kids could remember, and she’s yellin’ and carryin’ on somethin’ fierce, and so he starts pushin’ her around, business as usual when he’s drunk, which is pretty much all the time, except suddenly he’s got this big butcher knife in his hand, and next thing you know, my ma’s lyin’ dead on the floor, her throat slit from ear to ear, blood gushin’ out everywhere, like he’d struck oil or somethin’.”
“Good God.”
“Yeah, well, He was certainly nowhere around that night. Although the place was soon crawlin’ with gardai. They were
everywhere. And they’re slippin’ around in all the blood. You should have seen ’em. One of ’em goes crashin’ against the wall, almost breaks a leg. It was pretty funny, I tell you.” He laughed. “So, a few months later, there’s a trial, my da goes to jail, us kids get put in a bunch of foster homes. Big fuckin’ mess.”
“How awful for you. I’m so sorry.”
Jax glanced warily in her direction. “What are you sorry for? You didn’t do it.”
“I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
“No big deal.”
“Your father killed your mother right in front of you. I’d say that’s a very big deal.”
“Yeah, well, nobody’s askin’ you, are they?”
“I’m sorry,” Marcy said, apologizing again.
“I don’t need your pity.”
“It’s not pity.”
“Well, whatever the hell it is, I don’t need it.” He punched angrily at the dashboard with his right hand, causing him to lose control of the wheel. The car veered sharply to the left, bouncing between rocks and crevices and coming dangerously close to the side of the cliff before spinning to a stop. “Shit! Look what you made me do,” Jax cried, his face ashen, his voice a full octave higher than normal. “Are you tryin’ to get us killed?”
“I’m sorry,” Marcy said.
“Jesus, is that all you ever say?”
Marcy was about to apologize again and had to bite down on her tongue to keep the words from escaping.
“It’s bloody irritatin’, you know that?” The color was slowly returning to his cheeks. “You’d think you were responsible for every bad thing that ever happened.”
“Sometimes that’s the way I feel.”
“You really think you’re so bloody powerful?”
Marcy almost smiled. She’d always felt the exact opposite, as if she had no power at all. But maybe he was right.
“Talk about feelin’ superior.” He returned the car to the road without so much as a glance in either direction. “You asked before if she ever talked about you,” he said as they continued up the side of the steep hill.
Marcy saw the outline of an old farmhouse in the distance. Was that where he was taking her? “Did she?”
“She told me about this one time when she was a little girl and you yelled at her for scribblin’ on the walls.”
Marcy felt her stomach cramp. “She remembered that?”
“Said it was her earliest memory. Said she can still hear you screamin’.”
Tears flooded Marcy’s eyes, began streaming down her cheeks. This was worse than flying off the side of the cliff, she thought, worse than crashing into the sea below.
“You used to yell at her a lot, didn’t you, Marcy?” Jax continued, warming to his subject and clearly enjoying the sight of Marcy’s tears. “Audrey said you did. She told me you made her take piano lessons and then you’d yell at her when she’d make a mistake.”
So she remembered that, too.
“Don’t feel quite so superior now, do you, Marcy?”
Marcy said nothing.
“What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?”
They continued in silence, the single-story farmhouse at the top of the cliff becoming larger, more dilapidated-looking the closer they got, resembling more a sprawling old ruin than a place where anybody actually lived. Marcy noted that its gray bricks were a seemingly haphazard compilation of varying shapes and sizes and that its windows had been boarded up with weathered strips of wood. No one had lived here for a
very long time, she understood as Jax pulled up to the side of the house and stopped the car, although smoke was rising from the crumbling stone chimney.
“Looks like somebody’s lit a fire,” he announced, opening his car door.
Immediately the sound of a baby’s cries filled the air, competing with the howling of the wind.
Marcy’s head shot toward the sound.
“Ah, the dulcet tones of Miss Caitlin O’Connor,” Jax said with a laugh.
“She’s here?”
“In the flesh.”
“And Devon?”
“Where else would she be?” Jax came around to Marcy’s side of the car, opened her door, and grabbed hold of her elbow. “You can leave your purse in the car,” he told her. “You’re not gonna be needin’ it.”
T
HE OLD HOUSE WAS
dark and smelled of abandonment. Thin streaks of light slithered through the cracks in the thick planks of wood covering the windows, competing with the dull glow radiating from a fireplace in one of the interior rooms, the normally comforting odor of burning wood wrestling with the pervasive stench of decay. A baby’s cries permeated the dank air, seeping through the walls like a slow leak and beckoning Marcy to come closer. She felt Jax’s hands on her back, pushing her forward.