Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Five
'I appreciate this, Breda, you've always been good to me.'
'It's great to see you looking so well, to be honest. You off the drink and all?'
Christine laughed. 'Not really, but I don't drink like before. It's strange, but what happened with Timmy, it sort of straightened me out somehow. Made me see my life for what it was. I should have sorted meself out years ago.'
Breda sighed heavily. She always drove her sister-in-law to the airport. They enjoyed their private time together when they could both talk without fear, and they did just that. They talked about everything and anything.
'I know what you mean, I feel the same really. I've taken a huge step back from the businesses. I'm getting too old for it, I think. Timmy left a bad taste with us all, Christine. Not just me, but Declan and Jamsie. It's as if we knew it had gone too far. Phillip, on the other hand, he feels he should have guessed something – he's bothered about the fact he hadn't sussed it out. But then, that's Phillip, obsessed with himself as usual.' It spoke volumes that Breda could now say things like this. 'Do you know what? All I want to do is spend time with little Porrick. He more or less lives with me now. I just want to hold him close, and keep him safe from harm.'
Christine understood that, much more than even Breda realised.
'Aren't you lonely, over there on your own?' Breda asked suddenly.
Christine smiled sadly. 'I was much lonelier when I was married, Breda.' She could say that to her sister-in-law now.
Breda sighed and then said, 'I never thought of it like that, Chris, but I can see what you mean. It must have been hard over the years.'
Christine didn't answer her, she wasn't getting into any conversation like that ever again.
'Are you sure you want to do this, don't want to go straight to the airport?'
Christine shook her head. She knew exactly what she had to do.
Chapter One Hundred and Fifty-Six
Phillip was watching Christine from the kitchen doorway. She had refused to even go into the house, and it was cold and raining as she walked up to the big barn. Inside, she stood and looked around her. Nothing had changed, but then she had not expected it to.
The furnace was humming as usual, that low sound it had, and she felt the sting of tears suddenly. It was hot in there, as always, and the heat made her think of her son's last moments on this earth. Inside her head, she could hear the sounds of the boys when they were young. Their voices, childishly high, calling for their mum. She saw Timmy on his first day of school, his eyes so wide and not a scrap of fear in them. Saw him standing by the Christmas tree in his pyjamas, all excitement and curiosity at what might be wrapped up for him. And she wondered, for the thousandth time, what had changed inside him, when it had changed, or if it had always been there. This was the nearest she would have to a gravestone and, as she knew she would never come here again, she felt she had to do this one last time.
'Goodbye, son.'
Her words echoed in the silence around her and, turning slowly, she walked away. Outside, she stopped. She looked at the farm one last time and, as she went back towards the house, she heard the familiar sounds of rural life.
She was going back to the sunshine, to her art classes, and to her bookclub. She was going back to her new life, without the violence and the feeling of dread that accompanied her old one. She knew suddenly, without a moment's doubt, that she would never come back to England again – not even her grandchild would be enough to bring her back to this place, and the memories it held.
She got to the car and, seeing Phillip watching her, she raised her hand in what they both understood was a final gesture of farewell. Then, getting into the passenger seat, she sat quietly as Breda drove her away from her old life, and towards her new one. As the gates of the farm closed behind them, she felt a huge sense of relief overwhelm her. The sun was coming through the clouds, and the rain had finally stopped.
She would never be happy, not like other people were happy. Too much had happened, and it would always be there in the back of her mind. She still woke up in a cold sweat remembering her life, and what it had finally become. But she knew that she was slowly but surely finding a measure of peace inside herself and, after living like she had for so many years, on her nerves, and with a bottle or a pill, that was a start.
She had wanted a family, to be a part of a family, so badly, she had sold her soul for the privilege. Well, now her family was decimated, and she was the reason for it. But for the first time since Timmy's demise, she felt a faint glimmer of hope for the future and, as they drove through the rolling countryside, she felt her heart becoming lighter. Felt the dread seeping from her bones. It was ironic really, and the thought brought her up with a jolt. She knew she had to leave her family – what was left of it anyway – behind her, even her brand-new grandson, if she was to finally have some kind of stab at a real life.
She closed her eyes. She would be home in a few hours, the sun would be shining and the villa would be waiting for her. There would be no Phillip, no violence, and no fear.
And all of this, she knew, would finally seem a long way away.
Martina Cole
