I’m shaking as I feed Lily, finding no comfort at all from the soft warmth of her body.
Can she really make the police believe her? Can she really make it look like Ciara and I could have been behind it all? That we are horrible people? Maybe, I think, with a sinking sensation, we are horrible people. Maybe all those thoughts that come to me in the middle of the night – which have come to me in the middle of the night ever since the first time he hurt me – maybe they represent the truth?
I close my eyes, hold my daughter close to me. Think about her innocence. No, I was just a child. As innocent as Lily is now.
The sound of shouting downstairs jolts me back into reality. Then the sound of a thud, and another and another. I can hear Kathleen’s voice, raised, ranting. But I can’t hear Ciara. A shiver runs through me as I lay Lily gently back on the bed, her eyes now heavy with sleep, her mouth milky.
As carefully as I can, I tiptoe out of my room, avoiding that squeaky floorboard, listening to what is happening downstairs.
I still don’t hear Ciara. Just Kathleen ranting, punctuated by thuds as if she’s throwing something. I peer over the bannister, down into the hall. The living room is open and with another thud, I see one of Joe’s precious books hit the floor – flung through the door. I look down to see a hand, an arm, prone on the floor as if someone is trying to crawl out of the living room to safety.
Ciara, I think as I start to shake. I have to help Ciara. I need to get help, but I have to think of Lily. I’ve no phone. I can’t call the police except … I remember the phone in Joe’s room. He barely used it, but it was there ‘for emergencies’.
I’d arranged to have it disconnected, but I can’t remember when. It might still be in service.
I pray that it’s still in service.
Back in that room – his room – I make my way gingerly to the chest of drawers, where the cheap cordless handset blinks at me from its cradle.
I pick it up and press the call button and I pray, as hard as I can, that the line will still be active.
At the sound of the dialling tone I find myself fighting the urge to fall to my knees. Shaking, the numbers on the handset blurring in front of my eyes, I dial 999.
Help is coming.
Help will be here.
I just pray it’s on time.