He didn’t love her enough to do the right thing for her, but I do. I love you enough to do the right thing for you. And the right thing for you and our baby is to live a life without me in it. Because let’s face it, baby, I’m not getting better.
I’m sorry, queen. For the lies I’ve told. For the names I’ve called you. For the times I’ve made you cry. For every ounce of shit I’ve put you through. For leaving you alone in this. I know what you’re thinking: that I’m bailing, but I’m not, Molloy. I’m trying to make sure that kid doesn’t end up like its father. I’m trying to make sure that you don’t end up like my mother. Knowing that I’m sparing you and the baby a life like the one I’ve lived gives me so much peace. You deserve to live a good life and as long as I’m still here that’ll never happen for you.
I love you, okay?
Please don’t ever doubt that.
I love you so fucking much I don’t even know how to put it into words.
But I just… I need to set you free.
Yours always, Joey x
PS: On the other side of this letter is a full confession of the shit that went down at home in my words, dated and signed. I want you to give it to John Kavanagh. It will help him in court when he goes for custody of my siblings.
Tell them I was sorry.
Tell them I loved them.
Tell my son that I loved him.
Tell yourself that I loved you most.
I’ll be seeing ya, Molloy. xx
Frantic, I shoved the letter I’d found in the front pocket of my hoodie down on the counter in the Garda station and cried, “You have to help me find him before he does something!”
“Aoife, pet, try to stay calm,” Dad instructed, as he wrapped his coat over my shoulders. “The Gards are doing all they can. They’ve already sent a car out looking for him. Podge and Alec are out looking for him. Darren’s out looking for him. Your mother and Kev, too—”
“It’s not enough!” I screamed, clutching my stomach, as I leaned heavily against my father so as not to collapse in a heap on the floor. “You don’t understand. He’s not well right now. He’s so vulnerable!”
“What did you say his home address was?” the female Gard behind the counter asked.
“95 Elk’s Terrace,” I strangled out, chest heaving. “Why? Is he there? Did they find him? Is he okay?”
Looking concerned, the Garda tapped on the keyboard attached to her computer before switching up to read something scribbled down on a notepad. She then picked up the ringing phone on her desk and paled as she listened to whatever was being said on the other line.
“No, no, no,” I cried, sagging heavily against my father, as my legs gave out beneath me. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”
“There’s been a fire,” the Gard told us, wincing when she set the phone down. “At 95 Elk’s Terrace. All fire department units have been dispatched.”
“A fire?” My eyes widened in horror. “What do you mean a fire? At their house? Is anyone hurt?”
“I’m sorry, but that’s the only information available to me at this time.”
“Dad?” I spun around to face him. “We need to go.”
“Aoife, love—”
“No, you either take me or I’ll walk, but I’m going, Dad.”
I HAD A DREAM ABOUT A BURNING HOUSE
JOEY
When I reached the end of my road and my eyes landed on the orange flames swelling from my house the heavy weight of disgust and self-loathing that had been pressing heavily on my shoulders was quickly replaced with sheer fucking terror The fire engines.
The ambulances.
The squad cars.
The sirens.
It was for my house.
My family.
“Joey!” Fran, our next-door neighbor cried out, hurrying towards me as hordes of our neighbors began to gather on the road. “I don’t know what happened. Your father showed up a couple of hours ago, and then all of a sudden, the entire house just went up in flames. I phoned the Gards as soon as I heard the bang, but they…I overheard them talking about accelerants.”
“My father?” Trembling violently, I looked from her face to the house. “He was here?”
“He’s still in there, love.”
“Where’s my mam?” I demanded, feeling my body grow limp, as a horrendous feeling of cold dread washed over me. “Where are the kids?”
“I don’t know, love.” She shook her head, eyes filled with tears. “I think they might be still inside. I didn’t see anyone leave.”
Jesus Christ!
With my heart gunning in my chest, I sprang into action, my body automatically shifting into fight mode, as I ran towards the flames.
“Joey, no!”
“You can’t go in there, pet.”
“It’s not safe!”
Ignoring Fran and every other one of my neighbors trying to get in my way, I darted under the tape cordoning off my house from the rest of the street, narrowly avoiding two firemen in the process. However, the second I touched the door handle, a sudden blast of blistering heat shot through my flesh.
It was burning.
Fuck.
“Shannon!” I roared, voice rising with my panic, as I pulled my sleeve over my hand and persevered, needing to get inside that house more than I needed air. “Tadhg!”
Choking and spluttering when the sudden wave of black clouded smoke greeted me in the hallway where I’d witnessed both Sean and Ollie take their first steps, I covered my nose and mouth with my arm and staggered through the doorway, only to be swallowed up by the smoke. Momentarily taken aback by the unbearable heat that attacked my flesh, I felt around in the darkness, trying to familiarize myself with my surroundings and locate the staircase.
“Ols?” A fit of coughing enveloped me and I gasped and clutched at my throat in the darkness. “Seany-boo?”
Blinded and suffocating from smoke, I managed to find the staircase and made it about three steps up when I was roughly dragged backwards.
“Get the fuck off me,” I spluttered and coughed, fighting against the fireman’s hold, as he carted me outside. “I need to—”
“Stand back!” he commanded, pushing me roughly aside, as three of his coworkers rushed forward with a hose. “There’s nothing left.”
Nothing left?
Nothing fucking left?
I moved to run forwards but ended up staggering backwards and falling on my ass in a heap when someone tackled me.
“We have one.”
“Move aside, move aside.”
“Child or adult?”
“Adult female in the kitchen doorway.”
“And?”
“I think we’re too late.”
“Paramedic! Now!”
“Oh fuck—" Everything inside of my stomach came rushing back up when I watched a fireman place my mother on a gurney.
Her face.
Her hair.
Her burned and blistered hand.
Heaving, I watched in horror as they started to cut her clothes.
“Mam!” I cried out, feeling my tears dampen my cheeks. “Save her!”
Oh, Jesus.
There wasn’t an inch of her that wasn’t burned and blistered.
The fire had ravaged her.