Алекс Баркли - I Confess

‘What?’ said Edie. ‘Why not?’

Patrick spoke gently. ‘Don’t take this the wrong way, but Johnny might already know about that notebook...’

Edie frowned. Patrick waited.

‘Oh, God,’ said Edie. ‘You mean... he could have confronted Terry—’

‘Well — maybe not,’ said Patrick. ‘Where did you find it?’

‘In Terry’s van,’ said Edie. ‘It’s parked outside the chapel gate.’

‘Is that where you went?’ said Patrick.

Edie nodded.

‘Why didn’t you say that?’ said Patrick.

‘Because...’

‘Because you were already worried about Johnny,’ said Patrick.

Edie paused. ‘I feel so guilty. Please don’t say anything. I feel like... There’s no way Johnny’s capable of something like this. But you saw him tonight. He’s...’

Patrick nodded. He put his hand on her arm. ‘That’s why I’m telling you not to tell him you have this. If there is concrete evidence out there that Terry had ill intentions towards him, whoever has that evidence... might be in danger.’

Edie’s eyes widened. ‘There’s no way Johnny would lay a finger on me—’

‘No, no,’ said Patrick. ‘That came out wrong. In a way. I’m speaking as... an observer, OK? An observer of his behaviour tonight, specifically. Under very stressful circumstances. He doesn’t seem himself. You do agree with me on that.’

‘Yes,’ said Edie, ‘but I still don’t think—’

‘I’m just looking out for you,’ said Patrick. ‘How many times do we read about people who snap? The nicest guy in the world and he snaps. A family man, a pillar of the community... everyone is shocked. I am not saying that Johnny is that man. We still don’t know what happened tonight. But what I am saying is that I don’t want to be watching the news tomorrow night, thinking: If only I’d said something—’

Edie stared at him. Tears welled in her eyes. ‘Oh my God. He wouldn’t. There’s no way. I know him. I understand what you’re saying—’

‘Do you want me to take the notebook?’ said Patrick. ‘What I was also trying to say was that, if the guards got hold of it, it would look like evidence against Johnny—’

‘Or you,’ said Edie. ‘When I saw these earlier, I nearly died. I was like, why you and Johnny? Just the two of you?’

The door to the conservatory opened and Johnny walked in. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘Decompression,’ said Edie. She lowered the notebook to her side.

Johnny looked at her. ‘Are you OK?’

‘Well — not really, obviously,’ said Edie. ‘After Val. Poor Patrick, getting landed with me.’

Johnny gave Patrick a wry smile. ‘You must be regretting the day you ran into Helen Maguire.’

‘Don’t worry about me,’ said Patrick. ‘I’m just concerned that you’re all right. At the end of the day, yourself and Edes are the ones left to deal with it. The rest of us are heading back to our lives tomorrow.’ He paused. ‘Albeit, taking our consciences with us.’

Johnny and Edie exchanged glances.

‘Right,’ said Johnny, ‘well come on back in and we’ll figure out what we’re doing next.’

‘Go ahead,’ said Edie to both of them. ‘I’ll follow you in.’

Patrick hesitated. Edie flashed a look at him. ‘OK,’ he said.

‘I’ll be two minutes,’ said Edie. ‘I have to drop something to the office.’

She watched them leave, then walked a little way down the hallway, and opened the notebook again. She couldn’t figure out how everyone else seemed to be described, except for her, Jessie, and Helen. Maybe Terry didn’t hate them. He was kind to Helen for looking after his mother. And he still worked at the inn, even if he had a problem with Johnny.

She kept looking through the pages. And then she found out why there was no face drawn to represent her. It wasn’t because he didn’t hate her — it was because he hated her the most. And the pages were all stuck together. Bile rose in her throat as she cracked them apart.

Glued to the first page about her was a black-and-white clipping from the front page of the Southern Star — a photo of her standing on a stage in the square, waving to the crowd as the newly crowned Queen of the Sea. It was different to the one her mother kept framed on her sideboard — in this photo, Edie’s eyes were burned through with a match. Most of her teeth had been coloured in with a biro — tiny, repeated, contained strokes blackening each tooth. Drawn all around the photo were flames in thick yellow, orange, and red felt-tip pen. The caption had been cut off and glued above her photo:

And underneath the photo:

No one had ever mentioned anything sinister about Terry when they were growing up, no one had ever felt threatened by him. Edie didn’t even remember noticing him.

The next page said:

I WILL FUCK YOUR FACE.

I WILL HOLD YOU DOWN.

I WILL CHOKE YOU.

AGAIN AND AGAIN AND AGAIN

UNTIL:

LIGHTS OUT.

A shiver ran up Edie’s spine. Was this why the lights had gone out tonight? Was that his plan? Did Johnny figure it out? But she had been alone with Terry so many times at the inn — if he wanted to do something to her, wouldn’t he have done it then?

She pulled Patrick’s page out again — with his name on it and HA HA HA HA HA and the dead eyes and the noose around his neck. At the back of the notebook, she found its corresponding diagonal tear. She read the page beside it. Her head started to spin. Her throat and heart felt like they were attached to the same cable and it was in freefall. She slammed the notebook shut, squeezed her eyes tight, sending pinpricks of silver bursting in the darkness. She only realized she had stopped breathing when her lungs grabbed for a breath too huge for her shut-down chest, and she gasped with such anguish it startled her. She opened the notebook again and read to the same page again.

Smell the fire! Smell the smoke!

When you’re choking on it, I’ll watch you burn!

I’ll watch you burn!

And I’ll tie the rope around my neck and I’ll tie the end around the bough and I’ll swing from it!

And I’ll die listening to your screams!

And this is what will be left of me!

Can you see me now?

It wasn’t Terry’s notebook. It was Patrick’s.

Laura was sitting with her elbows on the table and her face in her hands. Johnny and Murph were sitting by the fire. Patrick was standing beside Murph’s chair.

‘So, what’s the plan?’ said Murph. ‘He’s inside in the confession box in the chapel, and he’s wrapped up... but...’

‘Is that his decent burial, so?’ said Laura.

No one replied.

‘I love this,’ said Laura. ‘The men all sitting around like ye’re the fucking Mafia and this is what ye do every weekend — have a drink and figure out where the next body’s going to go.’ She shook her head. ‘And all I’ll say is this — I’ve had to suck up not going to the guards about all this, but I won’t be sucking up that man’s family having a missing person on their hands for the rest of their lives—’

‘If he was on their hands, though—’ said Murph.

‘I’m fucking serious,’ said Laura.

‘Well, have you any suggestions?’ said Johnny.

‘Me?’ said Laura. ‘No. But if you want I can ask a few of the lads in the prison on Monday if they have any tips.’

‘From their successful friends, though,’ said Murph.

‘And that’s the other thing,’ said Laura, ‘I don’t know if it’s the drink or what, but you’ve fierce confidence in your abilities to cover up a crime. Do you watch any television at all?’