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‘The school is having a dance. Can I go? Can I? Pleeeeeease!’
‘Hey, sweetie. You know the rules. We have to ask your father.’
Siobhan’s shoulders drooped, and she let out a sigh. ‘Aww. He’s probably going to say no. He always does.’
‘When’s the dance?’
‘Next Friday. Everyone’s going.’ Siobhan was on the verge of crying.
‘Well, there’s plenty of time. If you do your chores, we’ll catch your dad when he’s in a good mood. I’ll speak to him, I promise.’ Lucy regretted the words as soon as they left her lips. Siobhan’s blue eyes lit up again with hope. With Siobhan at her grandparents over the weekend, Lucy would speak with Patrick on Saturday … just in case anything kicked off.
‘There’s the bus. Shall we make a run for it?’
Lucy glowed with pride as Siobhan raced ahead. These were the moments that she cherished. The smile on Siobhan’s face was so big, it pushed her cheeks up and made it look like she was squinting. More often than not, when happiness made her heart swell, Patrick was nowhere to be seen.
Lucy paid the bus fare and sat down, wedged between Siobhan and someone who was in serious need of a shower. She stared aimlessly out the window, wishing her life had been different.
No lights were on as Lucy and Siobhan walked up the path to the front door. Once inside, Lucy looked for a note or anything that would let her know where Patrick was. Although Siobhan didn’t say anything, Lucy saw the tears glistening in her eyes. She had wanted to say goodbye to him before her granddad arrived. Lucy suspected Patrick was at the pub or avoiding Becky’s parents. She reached into her handbag, digging her mobile out to text Patrick and see if he’d be back in time.
Lucy held Siobhan’s hand and they both headed to the living room, waiting for Patrick to answer. Siobhan turned on the television and flicked through the channels. Fifteen minutes had passed and still no response; she had no doubt then that he was at the pub. She turned to Siobhan and placed her hands gently on the child’s shoulders.
‘Looks like Daddy is at an important meeting, sweetheart, so I doubt he’ll be back in time. Let’s make you a quick snack and get your things together.’ She couldn’t bear to see Siobhan’s trembling lip and hated lying to her.
As she wiped the crumbs leftover from Siobhan’s cake, Lucy heard the familiar chug of Ed’s car pulling up in the drive. She waited for the billow of smoke from his exhaust to clear before she opened the door. ‘Siobhan, your grandad’s here. Grab your stuff and come give me a hug.’
Siobhan raced down the stairs with her weekend bag dragging behind her.
‘Love you, little one.’
‘Love you too, Lucy.’
Lucy gave Ed a wave and watched as they left.
The house was quiet when Siobhan was away. Patrick’s son, Rory, sometimes came around, but they didn’t speak much.
Rory had found Patrick online through Facebook. The pair had been reunited six or seven months earlier and had since been making up for lost time. Rory was fifteen years old now and mature for his age. Lucy had occasionally noticed a flash of Rory’s temper. Given his age though, that wasn’t unusual. She only hoped he didn’t end up like his father.
With the house to herself, Lucy struggled with deciding what she wanted to do. She found it difficult to relax when he was out, because she spent the whole time worrying what sort of mood he’d come back in. She almost wished he’d been at home, passed out drunk when she got back today. That way she could sneak past him quietly and make her way upstairs to the spare room, which she’d turned into a mini library.
Lucy loved her little haven. She’d sit on the futon she’d brought when they had first moved in to the house together. Patrick hadn’t always been a monster. Life with him had started out pretty good. For the two years of dating, they’d had some amazing times – in fact, when looking back Lucy realized that most of those times he hadn’t drank any alcohol, at least not in front of her. Lucy held on to the belief that deep down, Patrick had a good heart.
Of course, the whole Mr Nice Guy routine soon changed after they moved in together. At first, he’d have a few cans of lager after work. Nothing wrong with that. After all, he’d spend eight to twelve hours a day on building sites and just wanted to unwind a bit. Then the little sarcastic jibes started, which Lucy initially laughed off – he didn’t mean that, she thought. He’s obviously had a stressful day.
It was when Patrick lost his job and couldn’t keep any of the other jobs he managed to lie his way into, that the worst of it started. Life, for them, soon went from bad to worse. With Patrick slowly slipping into a depression and alcohol becoming his solace, it quickly became Lucy’s worst nightmare.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Shell Baker could always be found surrounded by men at one of the pubs in Markston. Most people who had grown up on the estates knew Shell. Her beauty made women jealous and her personality attracted men like moths to a flame.
The minute he walked in the door, Shell was intrigued. She had heard of Patrick Quinn and wondered if he really was as bad as everyone made him out to be.
He smiled at her as he made his way towards the bar. ‘What are you drinking, love?’
She had to admit, he had a certain charm.
‘Don’t you think you’d better introduce yourself first, love? I don’t take drinks from strangers.’ He seemed surprised by her straight-talking, but she liked the sound of his laugh.
‘Don’t get your knickers in a twist, the name’s Patrick – you going to share yours now?’
Shell was no fool. This guy was clearly a charmer, but a free drink didn’t mean she had to marry him, so why not.
‘Shell.’ She stuck out her hand. ‘Pleased to meet you, Patrick. I’ll have a cider and black.’
She’d seen Patrick at the pub before. Although he hadn’t grown up in the area, there were only a few pubs in Markston and most people knew the regulars. Shell didn’t like much of what everybody said about Patrick, but she always believed in giving people a fair shake.
Of course, Shell was no angel either. If Patrick messed her about, he’d regret it.
Patrick told Shell that he needed a break from home and the banter flowed easily between them.
‘So, why are you here talking to me if you have a wife and daughter at home?’ Shell said.
‘Lucy doesn’t get me. She’s controlling and always complaining. I can’t talk to anyone or go anywhere without getting the third fucking degree.’
Shell wasn’t convinced. He didn’t strike her as a man who would let someone control him. He oozed confidence and had a slight arrogance about him.
‘Why do you put up with that shit, then? I’d be out of there like a shot if anyone tried that with me!’
Patrick didn’t answer right away. He looked as if he was thinking carefully.
‘Not sure, if I’m honest. Been thinking about leaving her, but I have my kids to worry about too.’
Kids? ‘I thought you said you had a daughter. What do you mean by kids? She ain’t pregnant, is she?’
‘No. No. No. I have a son, he just turned fifteen but lives with his mother. I was with his mother before Becky, Siobhan’s mum.’
‘Oh, right. I see. Well, if she’s like that with you, what’s she like with the kids … especially when you’re not around?’
‘Hmmm. I see your point. I never thought about that.’
‘Where’s your daughter’s mother then? She still in the picture?’
A strange look came over Patrick’s face. ‘She’s probably in a psycho ward! She’s a raging alcoholic who fucked anything that gave her the slightest bit of attention.’
Shell wondered if Patrick could sense her surprise at his outburst.
‘Look. I’m sorry if that came out a bit harsh. Siobhan’s mum has problems. She needs help. She’s a violent, aggressive drunk, and I worried she’d hurt my little girl. Not sure what happened to her before she met me, but it made her drink herself stupid nearly every day. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I just upped and left.’
‘You left your daughter with her?’ Shell’s mouth gaped open and she inched away.
‘No. I took Siobhan with me and rang social services. I explained why I took Siobhan; they came, did their assessments, and the courts gave me custody. I would never leave my kid in a situation like that. What do you take me for? Sorry, I guess you don’t really know me so that was a fair comment.’
Shell was beginning to warm to this guy. As well as being good-looking, with his cheeky smile, Patrick gave off all the signs of a decent, caring father. Someone with a troubled past who was doing their best. Shell could relate to that. She fidgeted in her seat with embarrassment at jumping to the wrong conclusion. Her hand went to Patrick’s and she gave it a squeeze.
‘Oh God, that sounds like an awful situation. Thank Christ you had the sense to get your daughter out with you. Not many men would.’
He looked down and shook his head. ‘It was awful. I know girls need their mums, but there was just no way I’d put my princess through that.’
Patrick went on to tell Shell about Rory. How he’d last seen him ten years ago and, when Rory made contact via Facebook, Patrick knew they had to meet up. He told Shell that he had needed to explain his side of the story to Rory, because his mother had just left one day without an explanation, taking him with her.
Shell gasped. ‘How could she do that?’
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. ‘Still don’t know. Maybe she was having an affair? Who knows. I don’t care anymore, I’m just happy my kid found me.’
They had continued chatting until the pub closed and said their goodbyes outside. Patrick kissed Shell on the hand and suggested they exchange numbers. She reluctantly agreed but made it clear that she wasn’t into breaking up families. Patrick had mumbled a comment, but Shell just waved it off and headed home.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Lucy had a meeting with Claire Knight before work that morning. The knots in her stomach were agony, because she dreaded having to make yet another excuse for Patrick’s no-show. The loud snores from downstairs reaffirmed that he’d spent Sunday night drinking himself into a stupor and was still sleeping it off.
After getting into an argument with Patrick on Saturday about Siobhan’s school dance, Lucy had left him to his own devices for the rest of the weekend. It was best to avoid him when he was in one of his moods.
When Siobhan had come home on Sunday, Lucy was the one left to tell Siobhan Patrick’s decision. The little girl’s tears broke her heart and once again, Lucy was left to pick up the pieces. Siobhan barely said a word to them that evening and Lucy was furious. She could only hope that Siobhan would sleep off the disappointment as only kids could do.
Lucy took Siobhan to school and waved goodbye to her at the gates. She headed to the nearby Costa, grabbed a coffee, and rushed to Claire’s office. She hated these meetings. Hated lying. But if she wanted to keep Siobhan safe from her mum and from Patrick, she knew she had to play the game.
Lucy gave her name at the reception desk and sat down to wait. Within minutes, Claire came out and called her through.
‘Hi, Lucy. How are you? It’s been awhile hasn’t it?’
‘Hi, Claire, yeah, it has. Maybe three months?’
‘Wow! Well hopefully we can withdraw our involvement completely if everything keeps going as well as it has. Where’s Patrick today?’ Claire had a funny look on her face and Lucy knew that her excuses were probably being questioned.
‘He has a job interview.’ Lucy smiled and couldn’t believe how easily the lie rolled off her tongue.
‘Hey, that’s great. I hope something comes of this one. It has been quite some time since he lost his job, right?’ Claire probably guessed there was more to the story of Patrick’s unemployment. But Lucy was a strong, protective factor in Siobhan’s life; Claire wouldn’t want to upset that.
Lucy hated the look of pity on Claire’s face. ‘Yeah, it feels like forever, though. Can be a struggle supporting four people on my wage alone.’
Claire coughed and looked up from the notes she’d been writing. ‘Four?’
Oh shit! Patrick is going to kill me!
‘Um. Well, not always four … What I mean is, Patrick’s son recently made contact and stays over some weekends.’ Before Lucy had the chance to change the subject, Claire pounced.
‘Really? I didn’t know Patrick had a son. How old is he and can I get some more details off you?’ Claire began writing furiously in her notepad, and Lucy bit her lip angrily. Just when social services were finally looking to get out of their lives.
Shit! Shit! Shit!
‘Of course.’ Lucy gave Claire as much detail about Rory as she knew offhand and told her she’d have to email later with the rest.
As he was only fifteen years old, social care would have to do some further checks on Rory and speak to his mother. Although this would not affect the case with Siobhan, who knows what Patrick’s ex would say to Claire? Lucy could just kick herself. Patrick had made it clear to her, on more than one occasion, that this was all her fault because she’d called the police once when Patrick came home drunk and kicked off.
Siobhan was already known to social care because her school had contacted them when Becky arrived drunk and caused a scene. She had told social care that Patrick’s abuse made her drink and, although there was no evidence recorded, any child that came to spend time overnight with Patrick had to have an assessment.
Lucy didn’t know much about Rory’s mother or why she left Patrick – he’d always clam up or get angry when she asked questions – but she had a pretty good idea what had happened. If she was right, and Claire went digging further, Lucy was expecting all hell to break loose.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Shell couldn’t seem to get Patrick out of her head as she worked. She pushed the vacuum across the floor of the office, careful to avoid the plant pots as her thoughts returned to him once again. Who was this guy? She was reluctant to get involved with him, even as friend, but she had to admit there was something about him.
Shell’s own experience of a violent father made her portray herself as hard and overly cautious. But Patrick seemed really genuine when talking about his children, and Shell knew that some women were bitter when relationships ended. Maybe things had been blown out of proportion.
The anger she felt towards her father, who was currently serving time at Her Majesty’s pleasure, often invaded her thoughts. She couldn’t believe that nearly seventeen years had passed; even though she was now thirty years old, it only seemed like yesterday.
Shell knew what happened to her mother wasn’t her fault, but there were days when guilt still ate away at her. She’d only been thirteen years old – what could she have done?
The nights when Shell managed to get some sleep were filled with nightmares. Her mother screaming as Shell hid in her room, hoping she hadn’t been heard, wanting to run down and stop her father. The glass table shattering. The million pieces of ice-like shards rotating through the air and scattering across the floor. Her life had been changed forever the moment she had gone downstairs and seen her mother’s battered body, barely breathing, in a heap on the living room floor.
She shuddered when she recalled the smirk on her father’s face. Him standing in the doorway watching her. Shell running towards him, him shoving her back so hard she hit her head on the corner of the broken table.
‘Get the fuck away from me, you little bitch. Just like your mum.’ The memories after that still only came to Shell in brief flashes. Hazy. According to the police reports and pictures from the night, Shell sustained a head injury that affected her memory.
Shell had drifted in and out of consciousness that night in the hospital, but she’d never forget the look of pure hatred and disgust in her father’s eyes. How he had kicked her mother, grabbed his coat, and walked out the door.
Shell felt a cold chill up her spine as she bent over to switch the vacuum off. At the time, she’d spent a few nights in hospital and now, as she subconsciously rubbed her head, it was only the psychological scars that remained. It didn’t take the police long to find her father, though. He was arrested a few days later, pissed up in a pub a few miles away, and charged with the attempted murder of her mother.
Her father had initially pleaded not guilty – which meant Shell had had to give evidence in court, thankfully via video link– but it was all part of his desire to exert power and control over the women in his life.
He argued publicly with his solicitor during the trial. But continued the mind games after the damage had already been done to Shell’s fragile emotional state by eventually changing his plea. He was convicted of attempted murder against her mother and GBH against her. Due to the brutality of the offence – he’d beat Shell’s mother so bad that nearly all her bones were broken – he received the maximum sentence: life.
The thought of what she and her mother had had to endure all those years ago was still too much to bear. Shell hated when the post arrived; she was crippled by the constant fear that she’d find out he was eligible for parole.
Her mother’s diary had been produced as evidence. It detailed the years of abuse, both sexual and physical, that she’d endured at the hands of Shell’s father. Shell had kept this diary and it made for a very dark read. Her mother had survived the brutal attack, but something had died inside her that day. Shell had been taken into care as her mother turned to alcohol and drugs to escape the memories, and eventually prostitution, to pay for her mind-numbing addiction. She overdosed a few years later and Shell would never forgive her father for that.
Shell snapped out of the painful stroll down memory lane and carried on with the job at hand. She picked up her cloth and cleaner before she leaned against the window and looked down at the traffic rushing past in the street below. Never forgotten, she knew this abyss would rear its ugly head again. She was just grateful that she was able to push the dark thoughts aside and focus on the positive things in her life. She had made something of herself and wouldn’t let her father get the last laugh. She had to admit though, sometimes it was hard to keep her anger in check and she feared what that could lead to. Would she turn out like him?
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