Stay near to me and I’ll stay near to you.
McLoughlin couldn’t get the words out of his head. They kept on bouncing around in his memory. Near to me, near to you, near to me, near to you. He couldn’t think at first where he had heard them. Then he remembered. It was Marina’s favourite poem. Read at her funeral. McLoughlin sat at the computer, did a search, found it. He printed it off, read it out loud a couple of times, folded the page and slipped it into his pocket. Then he put on his jacket, picked up his car keys, and walked out into the evening sunshine.
McLoughlin had brought wine and flowers. He had parked his car outside the house. He waited. The minutes passed. He replayed the phone conversation in his head.
‘Michael, hi, it’s Margaret. How are you? How’s your hand? I hope it’s OK.’
He hadn’t known what to say. He had tried to speak but he couldn’t find the words.
‘I want to see you. There’s something I have to tell you. Do you think you could come and see me?’
He cleared his throat. ‘Sure, of course. When?’
She had asked him to come in the evening. He had put down the phone. Then picked it up again. Pressed the button to call her. Then disconnected. Quickly. He didn’t know what he would say.
He sat in the car and waited. It was still warm, although he could see it was raining out at sea. Smears of dark grey hung low on the horizon. And above him a thundercloud pushed its ice-cream peaks into the dark blue sky.
He watched the clock on the dashboard. She had asked him to come at eight o’clock. It was five to now. He was tired and his hand ached. The doctor in A and E had stitched it. Given him a shot of antibiotics. Written a prescription for painkillers. Asked him if he’d like some sleeping pills. McLoughlin had shaken his head.
‘Well,’ the doctor rested a hand on his shoulder, ‘if you’re sure. I know you had a pretty nasty experience. If you need help don’t hang about.’
A pretty nasty experience. That was one way of putting it.
He got out of the car. He opened the boot. He picked up the two bottles of wine wrapped in tissue paper, and the bunch of flowers. More delphiniums. He felt like a kid on a first date. Now he stood with the bouquet in his hand. He pushed open the gate. It squeaked loudly. He walked up the path and knocked on the front door. The catch had slipped and it swung open at his touch. He stepped into the hall. He went down the stairs into the kitchen. Margaret was sitting in the garden. She was reading a newspaper. He stood silently, holding his wine and his flowers, and he watched her. She looked different. Her hair was short and grey. But when she lifted her head and smiled the difference disappeared. Near to me, near to you, near to me, near to you.
He sat beside her on one of the old deckchairs. She poured him a glass of wine. ‘New Zealand?’ He bent his head to smell it.
‘Yes, it’s from Hawke’s Bay in the North Island. One of the best wine-growing areas. I’m amazed how much New Zealand wine you can buy here.’
‘It’s very popular. Of course, it’s easy to drink.’ This was awful. Worse than he had imagined. He wished he hadn’t come.
She put her glass on the table. ‘Michael,’ she said.
‘Yes?’
‘As I said on the phone, there’s something I have to tell you.’
He wanted to scrutinize her face. Relearn the topography of her features. Memorize for future reference the fine lines between her eyebrows and around her mouth. The slight slackness of skin beneath her chin and over her collar-bone. The web of small wrinkles on the backs of her hands. He wanted to lean close and soak in the scent from her body. He picked up his glass. ‘What about?’
There was silence. Then she said, ‘About Jimmy Fitzsimons. About how he died.’
It was hard to believe. After so many years she was sitting beside him in the evening sunshine.
‘You see . . . You see, what happened was, I couldn’t leave it like that. Justice had to be done and seen to be done. So . . .’
What was the best way to punish him? I had to make him suffer. The punishment had to fit the crime. Jimmy killed Mary. He tortured her. He humiliated her. He kept her prisoner. Then he killed her. So that was the first imperative. I wanted him to die where Mary died. It wasn’t so difficult to get him to the cottage because he wanted me. And when we get out of the car and even though it’s dark I can see that he is smiling. He unlocks the door to the house and he stands back for me to walk through. Such a polite gesture. Standing back to let the lady enter. And I have help to knock him unconscious.
‘. . . I wasn’t alone. Someone helped me. The man who was Mary’s father.’
‘It’s OK,’ McLoughlin said. ‘You don’t need to . . .’
‘But I do, I do. I want you to know. I’ve thought about you a lot over the years.’
Patrick helps me with everything. He even helped me with the trial. I wanted Jimmy to get off. Because the only punishment for him was death. Prison wouldn’t have been enough. He wouldn’t have paid for what he did. So Patrick helped me. And then he helps me again. Knocks Jimmy out and drags him into the shed where Mary died. The bloodstains are still visible on the wall. The marks of her suffering. I chain Jimmy to the ring set into the concrete, the way he chained my daughter. Then I wait for him to regain consciousness. Patrick finds the photographs he had taken of her. I want him to die looking at them. I want him to know that his suffering has a purpose.
‘Yes, the photographs.’ McLoughlin could see them. The images made his stomach convulse.
But he misjudges me. He thinks that I will let him go. That I am a kind, civilized person. A good person. That I just want to frighten him. But he’s got it wrong. I strap the tape across his mouth, and around the back of his head, around and around until only his pale blue eyes are visible. And then I tell him how he is going to die. First will come severe dehydration. Extreme thirst, dry mouth, thick saliva. He will become dizzy and faint. He will have cramps in his arms and legs as sodium and potassium concentrations in his body increase and fluids decrease. He will want to cry but he will have no tears. His stomach will be racked with pain. He will be nauseous and he will dry-heave as his stomach and intestines dry out. His lips will crack and his tongue will swell. His hands and feet will become cold as the remaining fluids in the circulatory system are shunted to the vital organs in an attempt to keep him alive. He will stop urinating and suffer severe headaches as his brain shrinks. He will become anxious, then lethargic. His kidneys will cease functioning. Toxaemia will build up in his system. He will have hallucinations and seizures as his body chemistry becomes imbalanced. Eventually he will go into a coma. His blood pressure will become almost undetectable as major arrhythmia stops his heart.
‘I told him all this. Then I left him. Patrick hammered a piece of board across the window. The last sound he heard.’
‘Not quite. Not quite the last.’ McLoughlin stared at her. ‘Not the last at all.’
Her face was suddenly very pale. Even her lips were bloodless. ‘What do you mean? What are you saying?’
He didn’t reply.
‘Michael, please, tell me what you mean.’ A tremor ran through her body. She made as if to stand, but he put out his hand and pushed her back into her seat.
‘I’m saying that I saw Fitzsimons after you left. I watched you and Patrick Holland leave. Then I broke into the shed. Fitzsimons misjudged me too. He thought I was going to save him. But I didn’t. I did, however, save you. I cleaned your fingerprints off the tape. And I, unlike you, couldn’t bear to leave those photographs of Mary in Fitzsimons’s tomb. So I picked them up and took them home. I’ve kept them ever since. They’re in a safe place. So you see, Margaret, you don’t need to explain anything to me. I know already what you did.’ He took her hand. ‘I’ve thought of you every day. I’ve dreamed about you. I’ve talked to you. There’s a poem I came across recently. Its first lines are “Stay near to me and I’ll stay near to you, As near as you are dear to me will do.” That’s how I feel about you, Margaret. I have been near to you for the last ten years. As near to you as I am now.’ He lifted her hand and kissed it. Then he held it close to his cheek. ‘The one thing I don’t understand,’ he said, ‘is why you are here. It’s not safe, you know. It wouldn’t take much to put you at the scene that night.’
She opened her hand against his cheek and stroked it. ‘That doesn’t worry me any longer. At the time I thought I did the right thing. All I wanted was revenge, punishment, to destroy him as he destroyed Mary. But it didn’t stop there. I have been destroyed by it too. Every time I eat I think of how he died. Every time I drink I think of how he died. Every time I stretch out at night to sleep I think of the cold of that concrete floor. I know what he suffered.’
She stopped. The air was perfumed with jasmine. She thought of the Latin. Per fumare. By means of smoke, incense, to take away the smell of the dead.
‘It was my decision to kill Jimmy Fitzsimons. Mine and mine alone. I don’t want anyone else to suffer. I had to wait until it was safe for Patrick. He’s dead now. None of this can touch him. But can it touch you? I don’t want you to be damaged by what I did. It wasn’t your crime. It was mine.’ She slid her hand down his face, down his chest, on to his thigh. Then she reached for the bottle of wine. She filled his glass. She filled hers. She lifted it to her mouth. She drank. He watched her throat. He wanted to kiss it. ‘I’ve made a decision, Michael. It’s taken me a long time. I’ve been putting it off for years. Sometimes when I was feeling brave I’d think I could do it. Then the bravery would slip away and I’d turn my back on it. But I can’t any longer. I can’t go on hiding. In Australia, here, anywhere. I want to be free of Jimmy Fitzsimons. I’m trapped by him. It’s as if I, too, rotted away in that house near Blessington. It’s as if I, too, was stretched on the rack of his suffering.’
He opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. He took her wrist. He could feel her pulse beating against his fingers.
‘Don’t.’ His voice came out as a whisper. ‘Please don’t.’
‘I want to ask you if you’ll come with me. I’m going to hand myself in to the police. I’m going to plead guilty to murder. I will accept the sentence of the court. I will accept whatever form of justice is administered. And that will be that.’
‘No!’ he shouted. ‘No!’ He put his arms around her. ‘Don’t do this. Not now. You’ve no idea what prison’s like. It’ll destroy you. It’s not some kind of a holiday camp, no matter what people say. Look, Margaret,’ he grasped her shoulders, ‘go back to Australia. No one knows you’re here. Leave tomorrow. I’ll come with you.’ He could see it. The two of them. Sitting together in the evening. Talking about their day. He could get some kind of job. Security, maybe. Anyway, he’d have his pension. They’d be fine. It would be a new start for both of them. They could leave all this behind. All the darkness, the sadness, the misery. ‘It’s over. It was a long time ago.’ His voice was pleading. Begging.
‘But it isn’t over, Michael. Not for me. My life is meaningless like this.’ She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed at him. ‘I ran away years ago when I was pregnant with Mary. It was a mistake. I should have stayed and faced the consequences.’ She caught his face between her hands. ‘And I know what prisons are like. I worked in them for years. And believe me when I tell you life in prison is a cake walk in comparison to my life now. I’m doing the right thing. Will you come with me?’
He couldn’t see her now. Tears smeared his sight. He tried to speak but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to hold on to the dream of their shared future. A little house in a garden filled with lush greenery. A beach stretching towards the horizon. Gleaming white sand, sea of a blue that denied description. And warmth, not from the sun that burned above them but from their closeness, their intimacy, their friendship. He couldn’t bear to think she would take that away.
‘Please, Michael. I need you. There’s no one else. I have no one else. Please. Do this for me.’ She put her face against his. Then she held him tightly as he sobbed.
They sat together in the garden. The light faded. They lay back in the old deckchairs. No words passed between them. He took her hand. I saw you, he thought. I saw you that night. I have never stopped seeing you. Ever since then I have seen you every day, every night. He stared up at the stars. He listened to the sound of her breath. Soon she was asleep. Her head lolled to one side. He took off his jacket and laid it over her. He covered her hand with his. Then he, too, slept.