I’d wanted to crack this story. Of course I had – but not like this. It was never meant to be like this. Niall’s grip on me is firm and there is a wildness in his eyes.
‘I shouldn’t have said anything,’ he says suddenly. ‘Shit! Ingrid, tell me,’ he says, shaking me so that I almost lose my footing, my boots sliding in the mud. ‘Tell me you won’t tell anyone. I need you to tell me that now!’
‘People will understand,’ I tell him, knowing that they won’t.
People never understand when it comes to the murder of a child. It is beyond the realm of comprehension and understanding. But I have to say whatever it takes to get out of this park and away from Niall.
‘Why don’t we walk back to the cars,’ I say. ‘It’s so cold here and I’m wet through. We can talk somewhere warm and dry at least. I can help you.’
It’s only a little lie – one designed to make sure we both get away safely. It’s for the right reasons.
To my relief, he nods, defeated, and for the first time since he and his brother came back into my life, I see the resemblance between them again. It’s in the slumping of Niall’s shoulders, as if he is carrying the weight of the world on them. The same weight Declan has always looked as if he were carrying.
We walk in silence, the air thick with everything that has been said and that still needs to be said. I’m afraid to speak, to do anything that might drag Niall from his silent reverie and back into the moment.
When my phone rings I jump, fumbling in my pocket to try to silence it, but my hands are too useless in my gloves. They won’t swipe across the screen. Niall stops, turns and looks at me.
‘You can answer it, you know,’ he says.
‘It’s okay. I don’t need to,’ I say. My teeth are starting to chatter with the cold now. ‘It won’t be important. I can call whoever it is later.’
The ringing stops and inwardly I sigh with relief, as we continue on our walk to the cars. However, the relief is short-lived when my phone starts to ring again. Again, I fumble to try to turn it off.
‘Just bloody answer it,’ Niall shouts, stopping and staring at me.
He is agitated, his eyes wild.
I take it from my pocket and see that it is Declan’s number on the screen. How much of all this has he known? Has guilt been the source of his self-destruction? My hands shaking, I pull off one glove. Swiping my finger across the screen, I hold it to my ear and I’m aware that Niall’s eyes never leave mine. I don’t want him to know who I’m talking to, so I do my best to turn the speaker volume down. I can barely hear the voice on the other end.
‘Ingrid?’
There’s an urgency to Declan’s voice, but the last thing I need is to get caught up in a conversation with him. Not now. Not here.
‘Yes. Actually, I’m a little busy right now. Can I call you back in a bit?’ I’m aware my voice sounds funny, as if I’m speaking the lines from a play.
‘Ingrid, are you with Niall? At the reservoir?’
‘Yes,’ I say faux cheerfully. ‘That’s right.’
‘And he’s okay? Everything okay?’
‘Well, you know. Things could be better,’ I say, my voice light still, even though Niall is starting to look agitated again. He’s obviously keen to get moving.
‘Okay,’ he says. ‘Can you get back to the car? I’ll meet you there. Try to keep calm.’
‘I can certainly try to do that,’ I say. ‘I’ll call you later, if that’s okay.’
‘Ingrid,’ he says, ‘stay safe. I thought I was doing the right thing … I didn’t think he would …’ His voice trails off.
Glancing up at Niall, who is still staring at me, my heart sinks further.
‘Okay. I know what you mean. We’ll chat later,’ I say and end the call.
‘Anyone important?’ Niall asks.
‘A work thing. Nothing that can’t wait,’ I say.
‘Was it Ryan Murray?’ he asks.
‘No.’ I shake my head. ‘No. Nothing to do with him.’
Our strange stand-off is broken by the sound of a voice, deep and loud, calling Niall’s name. He looks at me, his eyes wide. Reaching out to grab me again, he steps closer, but I step back. It’s getting harder and harder to stay calm.
‘No. Ingrid, get over here. You don’t understand,’ he says, and his voice is angry now. Scared.
The voice rings out again. He closes his eyes, shakes his head, and when he looks up, I can see that he is shaking. The overconfident alpha male I have come to know over the last few days has been reduced to a terrified little boy.
‘Please,’ he says, and reaches out a third time.
This time he grabs me by the wrist and starts to pull me back in the direction from where we’ve come.
‘You have to come with me.’
But I don’t want to. I want to get to my car and I want to get home.
The voice rings out again, closer this time. It’s not Declan, I know that. It’s deep, angry.
‘What’s going on?’ I blurt. ‘Who is that?’
‘It’s my da,’ he says. ‘Come on! You don’t understand.’
He pulls so hard on my wrist that it hurts and I slip again on the leaves, crashing to my knees.
‘Get up!’ he shouts. ‘You have to get up.’
‘Niall, stop! You’re hurting me. You’re scaring me!’ I can’t pretend this is normal any more. I can’t pretend I’m not petrified.
But he doesn’t seem to hear me.
‘You don’t understand,’ he wails. ‘You have to come with me. If he sees you … Come on! I know where we can hide.’
He is pleading with me now, pulling me back to my feet.
‘Let me go!’ I shout and pull away from him, breaking the hold.
‘You stupid bitch!’ he shouts. ‘You don’t get it! You won’t be safe. He has a fierce temper. Kelly, come on!’
It’s her name that makes me freeze to the spot.
When I look back at him, I see a man reliving a childhood trauma right in front of my eyes.
The voice, his father’s voice, rings out again and I see him flinch. He hauls me along the path, babbling all the time.
‘She was only trying to get away, just like you. She was trying to run. But he didn’t care. He grabbed her, threw her to the ground as if she were a piece of dirt, and it was my fault. It was all my fault. But I knew if I opened my mouth and told anyone what he did, he would kill me. Him and his cronies, they would kill me. Those big brave men. They’d do whatever they had to do to protect him. He told me that. He told me “Son or no son, you’re dead if you speak.” I had no doubt that he meant it.’
Shock hits me with such force that I struggle to breathe, but as I turn to run, I find myself face to face with Frankie Heaney, his expression a snarl.
‘You were warned, wee girl. You can’t say you weren’t warned.’