Because fuck those pricks at Tommen.
Fuck the whole damn world.
My only regret about the day’s events was that I had dragged my girlfriend into it. Because Molloy wouldn’t have been there if it wasn’t for me, and she sure as shit wouldn’t have been fighting if it wasn’t to defend me.
Her face continued to haunt me long into the evening as I sat on a concrete slab that doubled up as a bed in the holding cell which I was being retained in. I battled with both my conscience and my body as it reeled from withdrawal.
The stainless-steel piss-hole in the corner of my cell had seen more vomit than I cared to admit, as I continued to eject the contents of my stomach.
Black gunk.
Green bile.
Clumps of blood.
Jesus Christ, I was hemorrhaging poison.
The phone call I’d been awarded, I had na?vely used on a woman who wouldn’t even pick up the phone.
My mother didn’t care.
She had never cared.
Christ, I had a better chance of the old man showing up to get me.
You already know this, asshole, so stop caring about her!
Disgusted with myself for being so damn weak, I refused the chance to make another call, because in all honesty, I didn’t have anyone to call.
The beef I had with Darren meant that I would gladly serve an eighteen-month sentence for assault and battery before crawling on my knees to him for help.
Because fuck Darren.
The only person I could call, the only person who hadn’t completely given up on me ,was the one person I needed to protect.
The person I cared about most in the world.
I knew Molloy would answer.
I knew she would come for me.
She would fight my corner, regardless of what it cost her.
That was the whole fucking problem.
I had to stop this.
I had to stop putting her at risk.
“On your feet, Lynch,” a male Garda ordered, as he unbolted and opened the metal door containing me. “You have court in twenty minutes.”
Peachy.
Just fucking peachy.
Not bothering to argue, I complied with his orders and remained still as a statue as I was re-cuffed.
Yeah, this wasn’t going to end well for me.
Maybe this is a good thing, I thought to myself, as I was led out back to an awaiting prison van. Maybe the judge will decide to remand me, and I’ll be transferred to Cork prison. At least then, Molloy and the baby will be safe from me.
GOING STIR CRAZY
AOIFE
Tears.
I couldn’t stop them from falling.
It was ridiculous because I’d always thought of myself as a strong girl, but lately, all I seemed to do was cry.
And lie.
Oh yeah, I seemed to be doing a whole heap of lying these days.
When I arrived at the maternity hospital earlier, I’d lied through my teeth and told the admissions nurse in the A&E that a car had backed into mine and I needed to get checked out.
I mean, seriously?
Too worked up to think straight, I’d sat in the waiting room all alone bawling my eyes out while I waited to be called in for an ultrasound. The one that assured me what Joey had; everything was fine with the baby.
Knowing that I couldn’t go home in my current state, I somehow made it to Casey’s flat feeling overwhelmed with regret and disappointment in myself. The minute she opened the flat door, I barreled into my best friend’s arms, crying hard and ugly. “They arrested him.”
The text message I’d received from Shannon had confirmed it.
“Oh shit, what did he do this time?” Casey spluttered in surprise, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me inside. “Wait –we are talking about Joey here, aren’t we?”
“Yeah, Case,” I choked out, chest heaving. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” she agreed, walking us over to the couch. “Okay, you sit and start explaining, and I’ll boil the kettle.”
“I don’t want you to make tea,” I cried, dropping my head in my hands. “I want you to help me get him out.”
“Of jail?” Her brows shot up. “How?”
“I don’t know, but I can’t just leave him there.”
“How about you explain why he’s there in the first place and then we can make a plan.”
Sucking in a shuddering breath, word for word I delved right into the day’s events at Tommen, leaving no stone unturned.
“Come on, Aoif, this is Joey we’re talking about,” Casey tried to coax once I was finished regaling her with my tale of woe. “He’s like a cat with nine lives. He’ll get a slap on the wrist and be out in no time.”
“No.” Sniffling, I shook my head. “You don’t get it. He’s over eighteen now.”
“Shit, you’re right,” my best friend agreed, flopping down on the couch beside me. “The Gards in this town have been dreaming about this day. They’re going to throw the book at him.”
“Not helping.”
“Yeah, sorry, I just heard myself out loud.” Slapping her forehead, she twisted sideways on the couch and offered me a supportive hug. ”Listen, I know it’s really fucking scary, but you need to listen to what Joe said.” She squeezed me tighter. “You need to look after that baby.”
“And who’s going to look after Joey?”
UNANSWERED CALLS AND UNEXPECTED LIFELINES
JOEY
Clad in my BCS school uniform and rocking handcuffs, I was escorted by the Gards into a private waiting room at the back of the courthouse to meet my legal aid and await my turn before the judge.
The most shocking part of the whole ordeal was the well-dressed man waiting for me in said waiting room.
“Joey Lynch.” John Kavanagh looked up from the table he was sitting at and smiled. “We meet again.”
The fuck?
“What are you doing here?” I asked, sinking down on the chair opposite him. “You’re not my solicitor.“
“I am today,” he mused, combing through a stack of paperwork that I assumed contained my file. Shit, knowing my luck, the whole damn stack was dedicated to me. “If you’ll have me.”
“I’m broke,” I decided to throw out there. “And no offense, it’s pretty clear from the mansion you live in and the designer suit you’re wearing that you don’t work for free.”
“And I’m actually a barrister.”
“Even more expensive.” I shrugged, feeling at a loss. “Listen, John, I appreciate this, but I could work for a year and never be able to afford your services, so I’ll just take my chances with the free legal aid rep.”
“I’ll be requiring an urgent meeting with your superintendent to explain to me in grave detail why my client is displaying very clear physical evidence of excessive force at the hands of your colleagues,” he surprised me by saying, turning his steel blue eyes on the Garda lingering near the door. “Which, before you try to excuse away, I am more than willing to have a medical professional attest to.”
“Your client was arrested for fighting. He got those bruises from—”
“My client is an eighteen-year-old boy with a horrendous, detailed history of domestic violence. There are decades of reports of him being the victim of atrocious child abuse at the hands of his caregivers. That’s not to mention his even more troubling history of being let down by both the state and the Garda Siochana in this town,” John interjected coolly. “Quite frankly, I’m astounded your superiors had the nerve to take this boy before the judge. Once I’m finished making a spectacle of them, I’ll be turning my attention to the long list of Gards, social workers, and authority figures that failed my client and his family.” Leaning back in his chair, John rolled a pen between his fingers absentmindedly, while giving the officer a cool appraisal. “Now, when you’re ready, my client and I will have the room.”