Алекс Баркли - I Confess

When she hit the straight, she squinted into the windshield — there was nothing but darkness on the long straight ahead. Then a flash of headlights struck her and she saw a car speeding towards her on the opposite side of the road... until it started curving, aiming at her side, forcing her towards the edge.

Patrick watched in the rear-view mirror as Val’s car arced across the road and slammed into a fence post. He did a U-turn and stopped twenty feet from her, switching off his headlights, watching as Val slowly raised her head. Her airbag was deflated. She turned and tried to open the driver’s door. It wouldn’t open. She leaned over and pushed open the passenger door. Patrick slammed his foot on the accelerator.

Val was squeezing through the door when Patrick appeared beside her, grabbing her, pulling her out, dragging her to the back of the car and to her feet. Before she could straighten, he wrapped his arms around her from behind, and started to pull her towards the fence.

‘No, no,’ no,’ said Val, struggling against him. ‘Don’t!’

Patrick didn’t reply.

‘Go!’ said Val. ‘Go! What can I do?’ She pushed back hard against him, rolling her shoulder back, dipping it, dropping out from under his grip. She stood in front of him, palms up, her gaze momentarily drawn to a sudden burst of blood from his head wound. She pointed to it. ‘Your head.’

Patrick touched it and Val darted to her right — out on to the road. She started to run. Patrick spun around and ran after her, wiping his hand back off his face, smearing the fresh blood through his hair.

Val’s phone rang in her jacket pocket and she started to reach for it. Her steps faltered. Patrick shot forward, closing the distance in two strides, tackling her across the road, slamming her hard against the timber fencepost, then pulling her away from it and holding her by the collar of her jacket. He dragged her to the middle of the wire panel and pushed her against it.

‘No, no, no,’ said Val, slamming her fist against his forearm. ‘No, no no.’ She held her feet firm, her body solid. Patrick pushed harder and she staggered backwards. The wire panel started to bend with her weight.

‘Don’t,’ said Val. ‘Don’t.’ She shifted her hip around. Patrick kept pushing. Val bent her knees and pushed up against him. Her heels slid through the mud and the wet grass, sending stones skittering on to the tarmac. Patrick fell foward, hard, on top of her. The wire panel slowly started to bend backwards. The fencepost shifted in the wet soil. The panel dropped three inches. Val screamed. Patrick’s face loomed over hers, the spring in the wire bouncing her under his chin. Behind her was a gaping valley, and under her, from her shoulder blades to the top of her head was the cold, fresh air that filled it.

Patrick pushed down hard on the wire at her shoulders and Val slid an inch backwards. She grabbed desperately at the wire. The fencepost shifted again. She could feel Patrick start to pull away from her and she threw her arms around his neck.

‘Don’t,’ she said into his ear. ‘If I go down, you go too.’

Patrick tried to pull away from her, but her grip was too strong. He crawled a few feet backwards, and she clung to him, until she could feel solid ground underneath her head. Patrick rose up on his knees, steadying his weight across them.

‘Go,’ said Val, releasing her grip on him. ‘Just go.’

‘You don’t know what I’ve done,’ said Patrick.

‘You haven’t killed me,’ said Val.

Patrick paused, his gaze flickering down on her. They locked eyes. Then he pounced. Val squeezed her eyes tight. Patrick was frowning, momentarily teetering over her, his drop truncated: his pause had been like a starting pistol. By the time he tried to send his full weight down on her, Val’s knee was bent under him, her boot wedged against his stomach.

The force of his weight, and his will, sent Patrick Lynch over her head and crashing down on to the rocks below.

Murph and Helen turned to each other. Murph let out a breath. Helen’s eyes were filled with tears. Her laptop was open on iTunes. It was playing the tail end of a pod-cast.

‘And that was the final episode of the podcast, Girl Eleven, Girl Sixteen, by Mally James, named this year’s Podcast of The Year by the Irish Times .’

Murph wiped at Helen’s tears with his big thumbs. She started to laugh.

Murph nodded. ‘Yup — I’ve taken half your make-up off.’

Helen held her hand against his.

‘That was tough going,’ said Murph.

‘It would have been tougher going if Val hadn’t helped us out,’ said Helen. ‘Well, helped Dylan out, really.’

Murph nodded. ‘Jesus Christ — can you imagine those details getting out? Edie... and Patrick. There isn’t even a rumour going around about it — that’s how fucked up the idea of it is to anyone. No one would believe it. Fair play to Val.’

‘I admire the woman a lot,’ said Helen. ‘“It wasn’t the ‘why’, was it?”’ she said.

‘They dug the “why” up out of the acre next door,’ said Murph.

‘Ah, Murph — you can’t blame the parents on everything,’ said Helen. She paused. ‘Poor Dylan.’

‘He has you,’ said Murph. ‘And there’s no better woman in my eyes.’ He paused. ‘And he has me, which is pretty shit because no one wants to live with the school principal.’

‘I do,’ said Helen.

‘But you’re desperate,’ said Murph.

Helen laughed.

‘Jesus, though, he’s naïve enough — Dylan.’

‘Murph!’ said Helen. ‘That’s not nice.’

‘Ah, not naïve,’ said Murph. ‘Young. He’s all excited — Mally got a first for the podcast. And he’s telling me people are saying I’m some kind of hero, and he thinks that’s great. And I’m just thinking—’

‘I know what you’re thinking and stop it,’ said Helen. ‘Stop it.’

‘But—’

‘Laura would kill you and you know she would. Kill you.’

‘But—’

‘Murph,’ said Helen, her hand on his back. ‘This might be the only thing that could ever make me cross with you. I can’t have you beat yourself up about this for the rest of your life. It was a freak accident. A jagged piece of timber, her femoral artery. It was too dark for you to see the extent of the wound. Even if you had, even if you had called an ambulance right away, there wasn’t going to be a lot they could do. This was not your fault.’

‘But — it was my idea to move the beams and I didn’t think—’

‘You both would have died, if you hadn’t tried something,’ said Helen. ‘And if you’d died, I would have too. I know it’s hard when you can’t save the world. But, at least know how grateful I am that you saved me. You are my brave boy.’ She kissed him.

They fell into a short silence.

Then Murph stood up. ‘Come here, you beautiful creature.’ He bent down to scoop her in to his arms.

Helen slapped him gently away. ‘I can walk!’ she said. ‘I’m fine.’

‘I don’t care if you’re having a good day!’ said Murph. ‘What if I’m having a bad one? What if I’m shitting it about starting in the school and being expected to be responsible and I want to feel like a man by carrying my beautiful princess to my lair?’

Helen laughed.

‘Every time I get to have my wicked way with you,’ said Murph, ‘I think the same thing...’

Helen smiled at him. ‘Aw... what?’

‘She’s faking the MS. There’s not a thing wrong with that woman.’

At midnight, Murph stood on the balcony at the front of the house. He was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, barefoot, looking out over the harbour, holding a glass of 1615 Pisco Torontel, then raising it.