I stared at her. It had never occurred to me that she might want to leave now that Dad was gone. She was all I had.
‘You’re mine, Lindy. I’m going to keep you safe.’ I swore I would never rape her, never hurt her. I told her that I’d let Dad die so that he would no longer hurt her, and that was true. I wanted us to be friends and that could never happen if I let her go. She turned her face to the wall and howled and wailed like I’d never heard her before. ‘Lindy,’ I said softly, ‘it’s for the best. I’m in charge now. I’ll look after you.’
‘Fuck off, Steve!’ she screamed at the top of her lungs. She hated me. If she ever did get away, she would tell them exactly who I was and where to find me. I had been complicit with Lindy’s kidnapping for two years already so there were two strong reasons for keeping her: I loved her; and I didn’t want to go to jail. The first one was more important to me.
I was given an old car by one of Dad’s former patients. Eventually, the dental practice sold and my inheritance hit a bank account in my name and I could get on without social workers, lawyers or nurses. I got my independence back.
By 1989, when I was twenty-one, I noticed girls in town looking at me sometimes. I’d never paid much heed to my appearance before. The scar had faded into a thin white line on my forehead. You wouldn’t notice unless you got close, and nobody got close. I ate well and exercised regularly. I had joined a gym and was lifting weights and bench-pressing. I’d leased a small shop in town and set myself up as a greengrocer. I still supplied to the superette but also to other outlets in surrounding towns. I’d studied what other producers were charging and undercut them. I was on nodding terms with some guys in the gym and in the shops I supplied, and a few customers. But now that I could have friendships, I didn’t want them. I didn’t want anyone getting too familiar because I had Lindy. She was my secret. She wasn’t my girlfriend, not yet, but I knew she would be eventually. I was prepared to wait.
I was good to her. I let her have the newspapers when I’d finished with them. I had installed a proper bed and a colour TV. I bought her favourite food instead of the essentials like Dad did. She loved Shrewsbury and MallowPuff cookies, so they were her weekend treat. I bought a plug-in radiator for the winter because she had always complained about how cold it got out there. When I went out of town on a trip, I bought her new clothes and jandals, women’s magazines and lipstick. It was trial and error with the sizing, but I got it right in the end. When she asked for sanitary towels and tampons, I was shocked that Dad had never supplied those. I got them in bulk twice a year after that so that she would never have to ask and she would never run out. I gave her a clock and a calendar so that she knew what day and time it was. I bought her a record player and a radio. Everything I could do to make her happy. And yet, she was never happy. ‘Why are you keeping me? If you don’t want sex, what do you want? I’m never going to be your “friend”，’ she said, scorn in her voice. ‘I’m never going to feel like you’re anything other than my jailer, and you’re an idiot if you think differently.’
45
Sally
I finally received a text from Mark: Please do not contact my ex-wife. This is none of Elaine’s business.
I was furious. I had only spoken to Elaine twice. I had never met her, even though she had offered.
I texted him back straight away. Fine. What did you want with me, Mark? That’s what I can’t figure out. And then, as an afterthought, I sent another text. By the way, I got another card from ‘S’ the day after you left. Could that be you? Are you playing mind games with me?
My phone rang moments later.
‘Mark?’
‘What did the card say?’
‘Well, hello to you too.’
‘I need to know what it said.’
‘I need to know why my uncle would turn up here in Carricksheedy, pretend to be my friend, and then vanish without a word.’
‘I wanted to tell you, honestly, but I just needed to be sure. And I was about to tell you. I was going to, after the party. I wanted to tell you and your Aunt Christine together. But I thought you’d be like her, like Denise.’ His voice cracked.
‘Mark?’ There was a muffled sound and then his voice was broken by tears.
‘I thought you’d be like her, but you’re like him.’
‘What are you talking about?’
‘Sally, you’re violent and aggressive.’
‘What? I know. I’m dealing with that side of things. Mark, I need to see you. I feel hurt and confused and angry.’
‘I’m afraid of your anger.’
‘Me too. Please come back and let’s talk.’
He took a lot of persuading and was reluctant to come to the village, so I arranged to meet him in Farnley Manor, a country house hotel outside Roscommon town, at the weekend.
Farnley Manor was a beautiful converted castle on the banks of the Shannon. The first thing I noticed when I entered the impressive marble lobby was an unattended grand piano among the plush champagne-coloured sofas.
Mark stood up from one of the sofas and waved towards me. I approached him as if for the first time and, when we were standing face to face, I put out my arms towards him. He accepted the hug. I was filled with an unfamiliar emotion and, when I stepped back, I noticed him reaching for a handkerchief to dab his eyes. ‘You’re my uncle,’ I said.
We sat, and he had ordered afternoon tea so a cake stand was soon delivered to our table. Eventually, he said, ‘I saw you, from the sitting-room window. Lashing out. Violent. At your party, with Caroline … and then you reappeared as if nothing had happened.’
He saw me attacking Caroline.
‘Oh, Mark, you have no idea. I was overwhelmed by fear. I was worried that Conor Geary would show up. Tina told me my fear was irrational, but my brain doesn’t know it’s being irrational at the time.’ He just stared at me.
‘Denise was like that too,’ I said, ‘violent.’
‘My sister was the sweetest. She would never strike out –’
‘She did after my birth father was finished with her. It’s all in my dad’s notes.’
‘Please … tell me about her. My father won’t discuss her, my mother died calling her name … you must remember something.’
I explained yet again that I had no memory of Denise, but I had a good impression of her from the taped interviews and my dad’s written reports.
‘They were going into storage, Mark, but I kept them once I discovered who you were. You’re entitled to see and hear them all.’
One of the first things he talked about was Toby. ‘He was my bear. I was four years old when Denise was abducted. I followed her around all the time. She would play games with me. Sometimes she would hide Toby in the front garden in a hedge. I thought you’d like to have these. I had the originals restored and copied.’ He took out an envelope and handed it to me. There were only four photographs, all black-and-white. One of a small girl in a communion dress and veil, her hands clasped, eyes heavenward. A pretty girl with big eyes and freckles across both cheeks. In another, she was older, holding the hand of a toddler, Mark, who in turn was holding a small bear, brand new, but recognizable immediately as Toby. Her hair had darkened. Then there was a portrait photograph of her, smiling with cherubic cheeks. I had seen this one before but only from newspaper archives on the internet. The last one was a family photo. Mark was a baby, Denise was frowning. Her father’s hands were on her shoulders. Her mother was grinning at the new baby in her arms.