The Life You Left. Carmel Harrington
becoming shallow again. It was all too much. She’d been putting off so many things lately, her AWOL husband and her financial crisis at the top of the list. She knew it was time to sit down and take a good look at how bad things were.
Once the children were in bed, Sarah sat down with a cup of tea and opened her laptop to check her online bank account. She needed to do an immediate assessment of her current financial situation.
Every day she woke up and the first thought she had was, is it today that Paul comes home? She repeated to herself over and over throughout the day, it will be ok once Paul is back, he’ll know what to do. But as the days became weeks, the hope for his return was replaced treble fold with despair. Surely whatever mental state he was in wasn’t so bad that he would forget about his responsibilities? She massaged her temples, a blinding headache beginning. She was getting a lot of them lately.
She looked down at the ever increasing pile of brown envelopes in front of her. Taking a deep breath she started to organise them into three piles – First request, Second Request and Final Demand. The pile for Final Demand with big, ugly, red lettering over them was the biggest; no surprise really.
She took out her calculator and started to add up how much she owed in each pile. As the sum got higher and higher, the more overwhelmed she felt. Her wages from the boutique didn’t even make a small dent in how much she owed, plus she still had to pay their mortgage and feed them all.
Nervous breakdown or not, Paul was going to have to come home and answer some questions. She couldn’t do this on her own. Closing her eyes she leaned back into the soft cushion on her sofa. She felt herself drifting off and soon was fast asleep.
An hour later she awoke, feeling cold. She’d stopped putting the fire on in the sitting room, to save on fuel costs, but the room had gotten quite chilly. Pulling her cardigan around her more tightly, she shivered as she remembered the dream she’d just had.
A woman loads a dishwasher. A man walks into the kitchen and looks at this woman. Evil exudes from his every pore. His disdain for the woman is impossible to ignore. Whoever this lady is, she’s in danger.
‘Come on, lazy bones,’ Molly shouted to her husband, Pat.
‘I’m on my way, woman,’ he answered good-naturedly. ‘I must be mad agreeing to a walk at this ungodly hour!’
It was 7.30 a.m. on a bright October morning and the elderly couple had arrived at Ballyaislinn beach, ready to have an early morning stroll.
‘You heard what the doctor told you,’ Molly continued, getting ready to go into full monologue. ‘Exercise and a healthy diet are very important for a man in your condition.’
Shaking his head, Pat knew there was no point arguing with his wife. Plus, he knew she was right. He had gotten pretty lazy since his retirement the year before. The most exercise he managed to get these days was switching the TV channels.
Catching his wife by her hand, the couple started their walk, chatting amicably about their grandchildren’s forthcoming visit that weekend.
After a few minutes, Molly paused as she heard a noise.
‘Did you hear that, Pat?’ she asked her husband.
He stopped beside his wife and listened, ready to tease her about hearing things. But he did hear something. ‘Yes. You’re right. Sounds like a baby crying, almost.’
They stood for another minute trying to work out the direction of the noise and then together walked from the shore towards the dune in front of them, where they felt the noise was coming from.
‘That’s definitely not a baby,’ Molly said suddenly. ‘That’s an animal of some kind. It sounds like a dog keening.’
Walking up the dune, Molly and Pat started to have a poke around the green dune grasses.
Molly stopped and grabbed her husband by the arm.
‘Let’s go home, Pat.’ She shivered despite the warm anorak she was wearing. Somehow she knew that whatever was over to her left would not be good.
‘You stay here, love.’ Pat said. ‘I’ll go check out this noise.’
Shaking her head, Molly indicated that she would be going with her husband if there was any investigating to do.
The couple ran over to the area where the noise was originating and then stopped suddenly. Never in their lives had they ever witnessed anything so terrible. Lying in the dunes, naked and bloodied beyond recognition was a body of a woman. Beside the woman almost as if keeping guard was a dog, also injured, with a large bloody gash across its body. It was the dog that was making the keening noise. Even without checking, Pat and Molly knew that the woman was dead. Had been for quite a while it seemed.
‘Molly, go call the Gardaí. Go on now, love.’ Pat shouted at his immobile wife.
‘I’m not leaving you here. What if whoever did this is still around?’ she asked in a terrified voice.
‘Whoever did this is long gone.’ He answered. He, of course, didn’t know this, but taking in the scene it looked to him like this had happened hours before.
‘Go get help, Molly.’ He finished more gently. He walked over to the body of the woman and carefully felt for a pulse. He didn’t expect to find one but he had to look.
He took no delight in being correct in his assumption. The poor woman was dead. He automatically crossed himself.
Shaking his head, Pat turned to the dog. ‘Here, boy.’ Pat said gently patting the dog’s head. ‘You hang in there.’
The dog looked up at Pat and he swore he saw tears in its eyes. He wasn’t sure what to do, but wait for Molly and help. Taking off his jacket he laid it gently over the dog and the woman. He didn’t think the dog was going to last much longer.
Sarah felt like her whole body was reeling. She had arrived at school to pick the kids up and the Principal, Art O’Leary was at the gate greeting the parents. Sarah liked Art and more importantly the children loved him. Surprisingly she noted there was no sign of any of the children coming out.
As she got closer to Art, she realised that something was very wrong. He looked awful, his eyes puffy and red. ‘I’ve some bad news I’m afraid. I’ve just been telling some of the other parents.’ He said to Sarah gently.
‘I’m sorry Sarah; there is no easy way to say this. Ms Finch, Rachel Finch, our 2nd class teacher has been found dead on Ballyaislinn beach this morning.’ He paused, and then added. ‘She – she was murdered,’ the normally articulate Art stammered. He was obviously deeply distressed.
The dream of the bloodied body on the beach flashed back into Sarah’s mind. Was that Rachel Finch? She felt the blood drain from her face and held onto Ella’s pram for support.
‘Ms Finch? That’s Katie’s teacher.’ Sarah eventually managed to say. ‘When, what happened?’ She felt sick. This was just awful. This was the kind of news you see on RTE news. You don’t expect to come face to face with it at the school gates.
‘Molly and Pat Donovan were out for a walk and found her yesterday morning. She’s been identified by her parents.’ Art continued. ‘There’s no doubt I’m afraid.’
‘I can’t take it in. That poor girl and her parents. God help them.’ Sarah said tears glistening in her eyes.
Art moved towards Sarah and reached over to touch her hand, before he continued, ‘She didn’t turn in for work this morning. Which I thought in itself was strange. She’s never off sick, extremely diligent. When she didn’t call in I phoned her and got no answer. Her parents were at the hospital when I called, identifying her body.’ He finished.
Sarah