Page 9 of The Last Bench

‘When we buried our child, our hearts were shattered into countless pieces. He broke me. Us. Our family. I need to find a way to bring us back together. For the kids,’ Anne said. ‘We’ve already lost one, and if we don’t make a change we’ll lose the other three.’ She brushed away a tear tracing down her cheek, then bit her lip until it bruised, the pain stopping her emotion from getting away from her.

‘And do you think his owning up to his sins will help you move on?’ John asked, his voice heavy with concern.

Truthfully, Anne had no idea. But she had to find a way forward, and this felt like her only option. She moved closer to John and admitted in a whisper, ‘I’m scared.’

‘Of him?’ John asked, nodding towards the kitchen.

She shook her head. ‘No. Of me. Who I’ve become.’ Anne took a deep breath, gathering her thoughts so she could find the words. ‘Michael left because he couldn’t cope with us any more. And when the girls come home from college, sharing their lives with us, I sit and nod, smile at the right moments, ask all the right questions. But I’m not truly present. I’m a shell of myself – they deserve better than that.’

Her husband considered her words and Anne saw understanding in his eyes. Because it wasn’t just Anne who was moving through life as a shadow of their former self.

‘Don’t you see, John? We need to confront Hinges. Make him realise what he’s cost us. And maybe we can get through to him, find a way to make him stop.’

John pulled her into his arms and held her tightly in an embrace that their bodies instinctively recognised. Anne closed her eyes and searched for a cherished memory on which to anchor herself.

She remembered how they’d held a barbecue every year. In 1992, it had been so hot that everyone was in shorts and T-shirts. Mary, Margaret and Frances were lying down, trying to catch the rays and get a suntan. But Michael had other ideas and turned the hose on them. Chaos ensued as a water fight began, leaving all six of them crying with laughter.

It had been the most perfect of days.

The last day that they were all together before six became five.

Before . . .

John released her, and she returned to their reality, feeling stronger again. She needed John; she couldn’t do this on her own. But if she had to she would.

‘I thought the only thing I had to worry about this evening was mowing the grass,’ John said, pulling a face. He looked calmer too, at the very least, resigned to their situation. He was coming round. She could tell.

‘Look, I’ve got a lamb casserole in the slow cooker and the meat will melt in your mouth. I say we get this over and done with. Get Hinges to confess, let him go and then we’ll work out how to tell the Gardaí without leaving ourselves open to too much trouble. With any luck, we can be tucking into our food with a glass of red by the time the news comes on. Sound good?’

John’s eyes darkened as he looked at her. ‘No, Anne. None of this sounds good. But what choice do I have? You’ve brought this to our door, and I’ve got no option but to go along with it.’ He tapped the door to the kitchen gently. ‘You seem to have forgotten one important factor. That man in there is dangerous. We’ve seen the destruction he can cause.’

Anne felt sweat begin to pool under her armpits.

John continued, his eyes fixed on the closed door, as if he could see right through the wooden panelling to the other side. ‘If I cut his ties to let him go, he will attack us. And while I’m confident I can overpower him, what if he lands a blow to you first? I can’t take that risk.’

Her husband was, as always, thinking of her. Anne felt a rush of love overwhelm her for the man she’d shared her heart with, nearly her entire life.

‘And what if this confession we hope to get doesn’t lead to him going to jail? He’ll retaliate. If not immediately, one day I’ll come home from work and find you hurt or worse . . .’ His voice faltered, and he drained the last of his whiskey.

‘He’ll talk,’ Anne stated, her voice sounding more confident than she felt.

John moaned softly, a gentle sigh of pain echoing down their hallway. ‘I wish you’d told me about this. We could have talked it through, come up with something more foolproof.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Anne said, hanging her head low. ‘You don’t think there’s any chance this can turn out okay?’

He shrugged. ‘There’s only one way to go now, and that’s forward. Come on. Let’s get this confession.’

Eight

John

Hinges was fully alert when they returned to the kitchen, his eyes wide as he watched John and Anne. John grasped the handles of the wheelbarrow and moved it to the centre of the kitchen so that it faced the dresser where Anne stood with her back to them, switching on the camcorder as planned, then moving to the left of the dresser.

It was hard to believe that less than two hours ago, John had been wrestling with a box full of receipts from one of his clients’ accounts. He locked eyes with Hinges, whose muffled cries continued.

‘I’m going to take the gag off,’ John said.

Hinges groaned audibly in relief. John held his hand up. ‘We live miles from our nearest neighbour. I’m sharing this with you to save you the wasted bother of shouting at the top of your lungs.’