‘I don’t mean to be the bearer of bad news, but university life tends to involve books.’ His smile faltered when he saw my face. I was never one for crying, certainly not in public places, but my eyes were stinging with hurt and I fought to keep the tears in by squeezing my brows together.
‘God, I’m sorry, Martha, that was unforgivably stupid of me.’
I felt hot and stuffy in the snug and when I turned around I saw the pub had filled up with people. Now it had become noisy and unwelcoming. I had to get out of there.
‘What time is it? I have to go.’
I grabbed my things and he shot up beside me.
‘I’ll walk you home. If you’d like.’
I shrugged. What difference did it make?
As we stepped on to the street, the fresh air made me feel as though I’d drunk double what I had. Instead of the warm, fuzzy glow of earlier, now I felt nauseous and irritable. It was dark and people were heading home from work, so the street was at a standstill, full of traffic and the honking horns of impatient drivers.
‘Here,’ Henry said, taking my hand and leading me down a quieter side street. The touch of his warm skin had a powerful effect. I felt a sense of safety that I didn’t think possible again. I probably should have let go, once we had got around the corner, but I didn’t want to. Neither, it seemed, did he.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings, Martha.’ He spoke so softly it almost broke my heart.
I had assumed, when we first met, that he had the perfect life. But after he told me about his father, well. Eventually, I made a decision, took a deep breath and told him what I’d never told anyone.
‘My feelings? Don’t worry about it. There are worse ways to hurt a person, I know that now. I’ve had two broken ribs, a dislocated shoulder, bruised kidneys and I’ve lost four teeth.’
Henry looked horrified. I could tell that, despite what he had lived through with his father, there hadn’t been violence. If you haven’t experienced it, it’s easy to fool yourself into believing that it could never happen. That was how people could look through you, how you became invisible. Because your story didn’t exist. ‘But they’re the physical wounds. They heal over time. Imperfectly, maybe, but they heal. It’s the constant fear he’s left me with. That’s the wound that won’t heal. I’m not just afraid of him, I’m afraid of life.’
‘How—’ he began, then stopped.
We found ourselves outside a small church and he gestured to the bench just inside the gate. I smiled. It was the right place for a confession. I may not have committed the sin, but I carried the guilt nonetheless. How had I let this happen to me?
‘The thing is, you don’t really recognise what’s happening at the start and by the time you do, it’s too late to do anything about it. You think it’s a one-time thing. He’s so sorry about it, feels terrible. But then it happens again. Next thing you know, it’s all you know.’
‘You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,’ he said.
I realised he was still holding my hand. Or I was still holding his. I could still read him well enough and I knew he would keep my story safe.
‘It started during my first year at the technical college. I’d decided to do an admin course and got myself a room in a house, renting with two other girls. I would stay up in Galway for the week, then come home at the weekends. I was still living with my parents then, but mostly I stayed with Shane in his flat. Looking back, I think he was kind of an escape from the atmosphere at home. It was fine when we were in school together. I mean, he was a bit jealous at times, but nothing that made me think he might be any different to any of the other lads.’
The hardest thing about telling my story were the flashbacks – one minute I was here, in Dublin, and then, bam!, I’d be back there, cowering on the floor, trying to protect myself. Had it actually happened, or was it some awful nightmare that I’d imagined? No one could have lived through that kind of abuse, could they? I thought of the day my two girlfriends came home to find me hiding in the wardrobe in my room. I remembered getting out and putting my hands in the pockets of my jeans, so they couldn’t see them shaking. I tried to pass it off as a joke, as though I were planning to surprise Shane. I was so embarrassed – I would have said anything to make it look like something other than what it obviously was. He had come up to Galway for the night and I couldn’t wait to show him around. But he was moody the entire time, making fun of my friends and acting jealous of every guy in my class. How did they know my name? Was I flirting with them? By the end of the night, he was roaring drunk and calling me a slut. He shouted at me on the street the whole way home from the pub and by the time we got to my door, he had worked himself up into a fury. I shouted back that he had no right to speak to me that way. Next I heard a crack. He had smacked me, open-handed, right across the face. I was too stunned to speak. He took the keys from me and opened the door. I’ll never forget what he said as he walked past me.
‘That’ll teach you to answer back.’
I walked in behind him, stunned into silence. I didn’t want to wake the girls. I lay on the bed beside him and didn’t even change out of my clothes. He fell to snoring as soon as his head hit the pillow. After a while I got up and didn’t know where to go. I was terrified. So I hid in the wardrobe until I heard him leave the next morning. That year, which should have been about my first year at college, became all about Shane and his jealousy. My flatmates knew what was going on. They saw the bruises, even under the layers of makeup. The worst part was, right before the exams, they convinced me to break up with him. And I did. For two whole months, I was free of him. But his father died and I felt so sorry for him. He swore to me that he had changed and was ashamed of what he had done. He said he wasn’t himself at the time and I believed him because it was true; he wasn’t being himself. That wasn’t the person I fell in love with. And so we both believed the story that he had somehow been possessed by a mad fit of jealousy and of course it wouldn’t happen again. I failed my exams in the summer and that was the last time I ever went back to Galway. I could see the look in the girls’ eyes when I told them I’d got back with him. I think they felt betrayed and confused. How, after getting away from a man who hit me, could I go back? I couldn’t bear their judgement. Because they were right, after all, weren’t they? His promises meant nothing and I was a bigger fool for believing him.
I was so lost in my memories, I almost forgot where I was or what we were doing. I looked up at him and saw a look of empathy in his eyes. Not sympathy, thank God. I couldn’t bear that.
‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this.’
‘It’s okay,’ he said, about to embrace me but then stopping short. ‘Um, do you want a hug?’
I nodded. A lot. Yes, I did want a hug. I never asked anyone for anything, but to have what I needed offered to me like that was a blessed relief.
Chapter Fifteen
HENRY
Holding her in my arms, I wondered how any man could inflict the kind of pain and terror that would fracture this woman apart. That was how she felt in my arms, like broken pieces that no longer fit together. I wondered if there was more going on than she had said, but her poker face was the best I’d seen. Until now. Just then my phone began to ring and she pulled away. I searched in my pocket, trying to turn it off.