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Time passed as we drove, and all I could think about was Mr Collins. Was he okay? Did he wake up? Was he still unconscious on my kitchen floor? Was he seriously hurt, and I didn’t know about it? Each silent question made my stomach churn because I couldn’t come up with an answer.
“Why?” I demanded. “Why d’ye even want me, Finn? We were together for nine years, and ye treated me foul!”
I scrambled back when his hand reached for me, but I wasn’t quick enough. His tawny fingers tangled themselves in my hair. He yanked my head down, and it hit off the car’s gear stick.
“Foul?” he bit out. “I treated ye fair, ye ungrateful cunt! After everythin’ I’ve done for you and ye call our relationship foul?”
“What have ye done for me?” I snapped back at him for the first time in my life. “Apart from emotionally and verbally abusin’ me? After today, I can add physical abuse to the growin’ list.”
Finn released me with a forceful shove. I straightened in my seat and moved as close to the door as possible. My scalp stung, and my face still throbbed, but I was still in good shape for the fight I knew was coming with Finn. We merged from the M7 to the M9 and drove in silence until we entered our home county of Carlow. An accident on the road slowed us down, but we eventually left the motorway and found ourselves on the familiar back roads that led to the small village where we both grew up.
Kildavin.
I stared around the small village where there wasn’t much to do. We passed by the church and the local shops, then found ourselves in the endless kilometres of farmland on back roads that everyone always complained about because they were so poorly maintained.
“Where are we goin’?” I quizzed once I realised we weren’t going in the direction of my family’s farm. “Finn, where are we—?”
“My house,” he interrupted. “We’ll head over to your place later.”
My whole body jolted, but I didn’t say a word until we drove up the long winding dirt driveway that led to Finn’s family land. He had a portion of land—I had no idea how many acres—that he lived on in a mobile home. He had been planning on building his own house for years but had yet to get around to it. When he pulled up next to the mobile home, I got out, and he followed. With the car between us, I looked over the roof and said, “I’m not goin’ to Daddy’s farm.”
“Ye’ll do what I fuckin’ tell ye, Ina.”
“No.” I straightened. “I don’t care what Daddy says. I’m not comi—”
“Your aul lad?” Finn barked with humourless laughter. “Take a look around. D’ye see him here? He washed his hands of ye the second he read your letter. He told me if ye did come back that he never wanted to see ye again .”
I was flabbergasted. “What?”
“He said that you’re just like your mammy, walkin’ away from him. He didn’t care that ye were gone, Ina. I’ve been the one lookin’ for you, not him. Especially not now.”
My blood ran cold.
“What does that mean? Especially not now, why’d ye say that?”
Finn locked eyes on me, hesitated for a moment, then said, “This is why I was bringin’ ye home, so ye could find peace and—”
“Finn,” I interrupted. “Where’s me daddy?”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“If it doesn’t matter, then tell me.”
Finn stared at me. “Kildavin New Cemetery.”
I choked on the words that he spoke.
“No, he’s not. He’s at home … he’s back on the farm.”
“No, he was on the farm. The Friday after ye left, I found him out in the barn.” Finn watched me carefully as he spoke. “He hanged himself from the rafters. An empty bottle of whiskey was broken nearby. The letter ye wrote him was on the ground too.”
Numbness filled me from head to toe, but only for a few moments, and I was horrified to find that I felt … relief. Christ, what was wrong with me? Finn just told me that my father died by suicide, and I felt relieved? I was as sick as he was, as they both were. Shouldn’t I have felt some measure of remorse? My father was dead, and the relief it brought was almost selfish because all I could think about was that he could never hurt me again.
“He’s dead?”
“He’s dead.” Finn nodded, then he grinned. “Good riddance, right?”
I had no love for my father, but Finn was downright cold to smile when talking about a man’s suicide.
“You’re not gonna cry for him, flower?”
“I can’t.” I lifted my chin. “I cried all the tears I could for that man years ago.”
Finn nodded as if he somehow understood me. “The guards have been lookin’ for ye to inform ye of his passin’, but since ye weren’t here, I arranged his funeral. The men at the farm know me, so I’ve been runnin’ things since there was no one else here to do it.”
