Chapter 24 Nick?
I travel back to Brendan’s house on Friday evening.
Yes, Ben and I have admitted that we want each other.
Yes, we’ve confessed our love for each other, too.
Nevertheless, I don’t want to overstay my welcome at his home.
It’s been great spending the past few nights together, but people need their own space.
And I’m not going to encroach on Ben’s. I don’t want to scare him off already.
As I’m coming up to the motorway, my phone rings. On my car’s radio interface, the name focus facility appears. I answer right away.
“Hello. This is Nick Carthy speaking. Bethany, is that you?”
“Nick?”
I flick on my indicator to merge between cars. “Yes, Bethany. It’s Nick. Is everything okay?”
All I can hear is crackling on the other end and the sound of my indicator flicking off.
“Bethany? Do you remember what happened today when we were in court?”
“When am I getting out of here, Nick? You said you were doing everything you could to help me, so why am I still in here?” Her voice is gravelly, like she’s spent the last ten years of her life smoking.
I rub my eyes. I don’t allow myself to feel frustrated. “These things take time, Bethany. But today was a good day. Hopefully, you’ll be out of there soon.”
She asks hurriedly, “When is ‘soon’, Nick?”
“I can’t tell you that. But I can tell you that today went the way we hoped it would.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means that the three judges are currently reviewing your appeal,” I explain. “And they’ll be the ones who decide if you’re moved from where you currently are.”
“When will they decide?”
“Hopefully sometime next week.” I quickly clarify, “But there’s no guarantees. We can never predict what the court will decide to do.” I sigh. “It’s best if you just get a good night’s sleep, and remember that today was successful.”
“Will you ring me if you hear anything?”
“I promise, you’ll be the first one to know if I hear anything. Okay?”
There’s another extended silence. I can perceive Bethany’s unsteady breathing.
“Bethany? Is everything okay?” I ask. “Bethany?”
She screams. It’s ear-splittingly loud. On hearing it, I contort my face and cover one of my ears.
“It’s the man! He’s here!” she shrieks. Then she screams again.
The next voice to speak is recognisable. It’s a prison officer, the same one that Ben and I met weeks ago. “Not this again. There’s no man here. You—”
Abruptly, the phone call ends. A shiver stumbles down my spine as I slam down on the accelerator. Please God, help those judges to make the right decision. Help them to save Bethany.
I make it back to Brendan’s house just in time for the Six One News on RTé. As I trudge through his front door, the angelus is playing. This means I have less than a minute to sit down in front of the TV.
Brendan smacks the cushion beside him with insistence. “C’mon, Nicky. Quick.”
I drop my bags to the floor. I sprint to the TV, hopping the sofa like an action movie star. As my bottom connects with the cushion, the RTé News music starts to play.
I laugh. “Just in time.”
The headlines begin.
“And now, to today’s headlines,” the presenter states in a practiced and perfected voice.
Bethany Murray’s appeal is mentioned first. As the news presenter is speaking about aspects of the case, footage of Ben as he walks down the Criminal Courts of Justice’s steps is shown. Seconds later, the camera pans to the right, capturing my person as I catch up to Ben and walk beside him.
“Ah, there you are,” says Brendan admiringly. He points at the TV. “Look at you. You’re famous, Nicky.”
I lean forwards, squinting at the TV. There I am.
Right beside Ben Kehoe. Matching cerulean ties swinging from our necks.
There’s a professional gap between us as we walk together.
To an outsider, we merely resemble colleagues.
However, I know what rests inside this gap: the affection that Ben and I hold for each other.
Once the news segment concerning Bethany’s case draws to a close, Brendan inquires, “Things are looking good, then?”
“I think so. You heard what the woman on the news said – ‘I’ve never been more certain about an appellate decision in my life’,” I recite. “I think that’s all the confirmation we need.”
“It’s weird, though,” says Brendan contemplatively, “that the DPP didn’t put up any bit of a fight.”
“Maybe our argument was just too compelling?”
Brendan shrugs, unconvinced. “Maybe. Either way, it’s good to see that they’re taking mental illness seriously.
God knows how many people are locked up in prison when they should be in a mental health facility.
” Bailey shuffles into the room and jumps up onto Brendan, who cuddles her.
“I just can’t believe how quickly the tables have turned.
Weeks ago, people were calling for Bethany’s head.
But now, they’re acting like she’s the most delicate flower on earth. ”
I bite the inside of my cheek. What I have to say is controversial.
I hope it doesn’t impact Brendan’s opinion of me.
“That’s the public for you, I suppose. One minute they hate you, the next, they love you.
You can never predict what they’ll think.
And their opinion can change like” – I click my finger and thumb – “that.”
“And Ben?” Brendan’s voice is suggestive.
“What about him?”
“Do I really have to spell it out?”
I pat Brendan’s knee. “That’s a story for another day. I promise I’ll tell you everything once I figure out what ‘everything’ is.”
Brendan scrunches up his face, dissatisfied. “Nicky,” he whines.
“I’m sorry, Brendan. I can’t say any more than I already have.”
I could say more if I wanted to. I could tell Brendan every detail.
I trust him with my life. But I need to think of Ben.
He still hasn’t figured out who he is, and I’m not going to rob him of the opportunity to discover that for himself.
For now, this isn’t my story to freely share; soon, I hope, it will become our story to share.
“Fine.” Brendan concedes. He pouts.
We spend the rest of Friday night playing Tekken 3 on Brendan’s PlayStation.
The relaxing activity is welcome, especially after the week I’ve just had.
The long nights and the never-ending stress that came with the appeal hearing have sapped me of my energy.
It wasn’t all doom and gloom, however. If it wasn’t for this case and the resulting appeal, I would’ve never connected with Ben.
I would have never fallen in love again.
It’s still early when I make the trek up Brendan’s hallway to the spare bedroom.
I suppose it’s my bedroom now, considering I’m paying rent for it.
Before I fall asleep, I check my work emails.
I’m sitting up in the spare bed, my bed, cross-legged, with my laptop resting on my lap.
The laptop’s heat is warming my thighs. I have one new email from Mr O’Leary. It reads:
Congratulations, Nick. You did great work. I knew you and Ben would make a great team – isn’t he a great advocate? I don’t want to count my chickens before they hatch, but I think you two have been successful with this one. Let me know if you hear anything soon.
Thanks,
Rob.
I shut down my laptop and clamber beneath the duvet. My eyes are heavy with sleep. Still, I cannot prevent myself from reaching for my phone when it beeps. When I see who’s messaged me, my heart lurches. The message is from Tom.
Hey Nick. I saw you on the news. Well done on the Murray case. I knew you could do it!
He completes the text with a grinning emoji.
Smiling, I text back.
Thanks Tom. I couldn’t have done it without your help.
Ending the conversation, Tom reacts to my message with a thumbs-up emoji.
I lock my phone, drop it onto the bedside table, and fall fast asleep as soon as I close my eyes. As expected, I dream of Ben.
Ben is in Gorey on Saturday. He’s playing a last-minute badminton match in the sports hall. The hall is about ten minutes away from Brendan’s home, so when Ben asks if I’d like to watch him play, I immediately say yes.
I pull in to the little carpark beside a Gaelic football pitch at midday.
Ben’s enormous pickup is the first vehicle I spot.
As predicted, it’s parked neatly in two car parking spaces.
I roll my tiny red hatchback into the space beside it.
It’s absurd how minute my car appears when parked beside Ben’s.
“You made it.” Ben’s waiting for his next match to start, so, at the moment, he’s having a quick break.
“Of course I made it. I’m only ten minutes down the road.”
Sweat is dripping down Ben’s face, like drips of rainwater streaking down a window. When he lifts his shirt to wipe away the sweat, exposing his soft, tempting stomach, I don’t make any attempt to avert my gaze.
I ensure there is nobody in our immediate vicinity when I whisper, “Looking good, by the way.” I raise my eyebrows provocatively.
Like me, Ben examines our surroundings before muttering, “Not as good as you.”
I peer down at my ripped jeans and beige jumper. Then, I follow Ben to the badminton courts. His next match is about to start; I take a seat beside two other spectators.
“Are you a friend of Ben’s?” one of them asks me. She’s an older woman.
Friend. I’m so much more than that, but to the outside world, that’s all I am to Ben. A ‘friend’. I remind myself that I agreed to take things slow.
“Yes,” I tell her. “And you are?”
“Oh, we’re the parents of his opponent, Eddie.” She grabs her husband, dragging him into our conversation.
“Well, it’s nice to meet the both of you,” I say.
The atmosphere is otherworldly awkward. To combat my discomfort, I dig my nails into my palms. As time ticks by, this awkwardness only builds. However, once the game begins, our attention is drawn away from each other and to the rushing shuttlecock.