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“Claire?” Mam smiled across the table at me, but just like all the other smiles since that night, it was a forced one. “Come on, pet, at least try to eat something.”
Numb, I continued to slump against my chair, while my plate remained untouched.
“Please, Claire,” she tried again, voice wavering. “It’s Christmas.”
“No, it’s not,” Hugh surprised me by saying. “Because Christmas means family.” He inclined his head to the empty chair at the table. The chair with the word Gibsie carved into it. “And we’re one family member down.”
My attention shifted to his empty chair, and the void that had been steadily growing inside of my heart morphed into a great abyss. Lonely didn’t begin to touch the surface of how desolate my life had been this past week. I felt his absence everywhere. It was like someone had left the back door open overnight and all the cold had seeped inside. The Christmas presents under the tree with my name on them had been left unopened, because in my mind, if there wasn’t a Gerard Gibson–shaped present left out for me, then I didn’t want to hear about it.
Reeling from the discovery of Caoimhe’s letter, I felt like everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. The guilt I felt for Gerard’s public humiliation was stifling. It made it hard to breathe at night. Because I hadn’t seen Gerard since the night of the winter ball and I was terrified that I never would. Not the way we were, at least. Not like before.
“Come on, you two,” Dad encouraged, clearly doing his best to step up and support Mam through the storm that had settled over our home. “You can’t go on a hunger strike.”
“Yeah.” Reaching up, Hugh snatched the paper hat he won in a Christmas cracker off his head and tossed it down on his equally untouched plate before pushing his chair back. “I’m going for a walk.”
“No, Hugh.” Dad set his fork and knife down. “This is not the right way to handle things, son.”
“No, Dad, it’s definitely not,” my brother agreed with a sneer. “But if I handled things your way, then I would never come out of the fucking attic.”
“Hugh!”
“Don’t you feel responsible, Mam?” My brother asked the unspoken question that hung heavily over my family. “Because I sure as hell do.”
“You are not responsible for what that monster did,” Dad cut in. “So, get those notions out of your head, son.”
“Oh, so now he’s a monster,” Hugh sneered, throwing his hands up. “He’s always been a monster, Dad. Liz has been trying to tell everyone for years but not a damn person would listen.”
“That’s different,” Mam interjected in a weary tone. “Lizzie and her family were mistaken.”
“How do we know that?” Hugh demanded. “Huh? How can we ever be sure of anything ever again when for four years our best friend was being raped right across the street. Every fucking night by that monster!”
A sob escaped me, and I dropped my head in my hands.
“The way I see it is two innocent families were ruined by one monster,” Hugh continued hoarsely. “And now those families are at loggerheads when they should be working together to take the bastard down.”
“Hugh!”
“He wasn’t even arrested!” Beyond livid, my brother continued to rant and rave at the top of his lungs while his big frame shook violently. “Just because he’s out of the country. What utter bullshit! He continuously rapes a seven-year-old child, and he just jets off to play happy families with a woman who doesn’t have the slightest inkling of how much danger her son is in around his father!”
“I am not the law,” Mam replied, tears filling her eyes. “And I feel plenty of guilt for not seeing the signs, Hugh Andrew Biggs. Plenty.”
“So, please spare us the guilt trip,” Dad said thickly. “Because your mother and I are already drowning in regret.”
“Yeah? Well, join the fucking club, Dad.”
“Hugh, wait. Don’t just walk out,” Dad called out, but it was too late, because my brother had already stormed out of the house, slamming the front door behind him.
“Please just sit down,” Mam began to plead when I followed suit and pushed my chair back. Because I couldn’t do it, either. I couldn’t sit, and smile, and be festive when our world had imploded around us less than a week ago.
“Sorry,” I told my parents, abandoning Christmas dinner as I hurried to catch up with Hugh.
When I stepped outside, I found my brother in the driveway, leaning against his parked car. With his arms folded across his chest, he stared at the house across the street. They always had the best lights on the street, but today, it was in darkness.
Because Sadhbh and Gerard were gone. I knew. I’d watched them drive off in the back seat of John Sr.’s Mercedes three days ago. Soon after, Keith Allen had filled his Land Rover with his belongings before he too left the street. In the opposite direction.
“Have you heard from them?” I croaked out, leaning against the car beside my brother.
“Once.” Hugh nodded stiffly. “Johnny called when they arrived at his parents’ house in Blackrock.”
