Chapter 27
I return to work on Thursday. The distraction of reading legalese, reviewing case law and statute, and preparing legal submissions is desired; maybe it’ll briefly take my mind away from Ben Kehoe.
Brendan joins me for the morning commute. Today, he’s needed in the Department of Housing’s Dublin office to attend a divisional meeting. He isn’t happy about having to commute so far for an in-person meeting.
He huffs. “I just don’t understand why we can’t do this meeting online. It’d be so much easier for everyone.”
We’re standing at the train station, waiting for the train to arrive. Darkness envelops the morning sky. Now that the weather is starting to chill as we approach the cool late-autumn months, the air around us is crisp. When I exhale, my breath fogs in front of me.
“Maybe they want you to network?” I put forward.
Disregarding my suggestion, Brendan grumbles, “It’s a waste of time.”
A few minutes later, the train rolls into Gorey station. Brendan and I hurry to our assigned seats. We sit across from each other; a narrow table separates us. I squirm free from my coat while Brendan plays on his phone.
Peeping over the top of his phone, Brendan points at my suit. “Haven’t seen that one in a while, Nicky. It looks nice on you. You should wear it more.”
I peer down at my dark maroon ensemble and think of the times when I last wore this suit.
First, the day the verdict was given in Bethany’s trial.
A lot happened on that day. Bethany was found guilty of murder.
Mr O’Leary encouraged me to lodge an appeal.
And, most notably, Ben Kehoe came back into my life.
Second, the day Ben attended our Dublin office for in-person training.
The day we kissed in the elevator. Little did I know how much my life would change after wearing this suit.
I hide my hurt with a smile. “Thanks, Brendan. That’s very nice of you.”
It’s nice to spend time with Brendan on the commute.
Though he devotes most of the journey to giving out, his company is welcome.
As we’re departing from Bray train station, my phone buzzes on the table.
Please be Ben. Please. I turn my phone over to see who’s messaged me, but sigh when I discover that the text has merely come from my network provider.
I flip my phone over, cross my arms over my chest, and stare out at the sea.
Out of nowhere, Brendan asks, “How’s Tom doing?”
I’m surprised that he has asked this question; I almost choke on my breath.
But I suppose I should have expected this.
Tom and Brendan were good friends after all.
A few years ago, they came to Bray to watch the Air Show together.
The familiarity of our current surroundings likely stirred up a memory inside Brendan.
I bite my lip and think of Tom, the man I loved for years. “He’s good I think.”
A silence ensues. Brendan glances out the window at the brightening morning sky, and I glance at my phone.
Shattering the silence, Brendan lets out a long breath. “You know, you can talk to me. About Tom, about Ben, about anything. I’m always here for you.”
“I know that, Brendan. Thanks.”
Brendan repositions himself. He places both elbows on the table and leans forwards. His attention is solely cemented to me. “Can I say something?”
I laugh uncomfortably. “Always.”
Brendan looks me in the eye. “I’m sorry, Nicky.
You’ve really been dealt a bad hand lately.
Especially when everything turned to shit with Tom.
Honestly, I’d never seen you so sad in our entire lives.
And I’m really sorry about that.” He takes a brief pause.
He glances at the rising sun and then back at me.
“But after you started working with Ben Kehoe, I think something changed. It’s like you started to feel happy again. ”
I’m confused, and my face shows it.
Reading my expression, Brendan continues, “Do you remember the night when we were watching you and Ben on the news?”
I nod.
“Well, when Ben came onto the TV, I looked at you out of the corner of my eye. And… I’ve never seen you smile so wide.”
Awkwardly, I scoff. “I’ve smiled like that lots of times.”
“Not like that you haven’t.”
I shake my head. “I’m sure I smiled like that with Tom all the time.” Unintentionally, my voice sounds uncertain. My statement sounds more like a question.
Brendan sighs. “Maybe.” He clears his throat. Then he screws his face up in the way he always does when he’s about to deliver bad news. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, Nicky…”
I steel myself in anticipation.
“…but everything you did with Tom looked like you’d practiced it beforehand.”
My mouth falls open. I try to defend myself, but Brendan keeps going.
“It was like you were so afraid of doing something wrong or setting one foot out of place that you became a different person. You pretended to be someone that you weren’t for Tom because you were afraid of losing everything you’d planned for.”
My gaze has fallen; I cannot bear to look at Brendan while he speaks this truth. My truth.
Brendan speaks more softly. “That’s something you shouldn’t have to do when you’re in love, Nicky. You should be able to be yourself, act how you want, say what you want. Not everything has to be carefully planned for.”
Tears start to build in my eyes. I blink them away.
I slouch in my seat, attempting to make myself appear as small as I feel.
Everything Brendan is saying is true. Looking back on my life with Tom with a fresh perspective, I’m certain of it.
I did plan everything. Every single word I spoke and move I made was carefully calculated and executed.
“So, when I stop planning, I’ll be free enough to fall in love?” I ask.
“In a way, yes. You just have to go with the flow. I know that scares you, but sometimes we have to face our fears before we can fall in love.”
“How do I know when I’m falling?”
Brendan chuckles to himself. “You have to let go first.”
Another silence follows. We breeze through Pearse train station and watch as lots of people depart.
With his arms folded over his chest, Brendan smugly nods. “I can’t believe out of everyone in college, you were the one that got Ben Kehoe.”
I study him with a puzzled expression.
“I should’ve seen it coming, though.”
I lean in closer to him. I whisper, “What do you mean?”
“Because while you were cursing and scoffing under your breath, Ben was always looking at you.”
At Connolly station, Brendan and I go our separate ways.
Before we leave each other, Brendan has one final piece of advice for me. “Remember what I told you yesterday, Nicky. Don’t let him hide you.”
Turning to catch the next Luas, I say over my shoulder, “I remember. Thanks, Brendan.”
“Welcome back,” Melissa says as I sit down at my desk. “I heard you had food poisoning.”
Scratching the back of my head, I lie, “Yeah. Had some bad chicken, I think.”
Melissa makes a face. “Well, I’m glad you’re feeling better.”
“Thanks.”
I power on my laptop. As expected, I have many unopened emails.
I spend most of the morning sorting through them.
There’s one from Mr Foley threatening to sue because of my ‘ineffective assistance’ in his proceedings.
Another comes from a Ms Abbott, seeking legal advice on a family law matter.
And another is from Mr O’Leary, thanking me for the legal advice offered in the syringe offence case that originally belonged to my colleague Orla Fahy.
The most important email comes from Dr Deirdre Mooney at the Central Mental Hospital. With a thudding heart, I open it.
Dear Mr Carthy,
I am contacting you to confirm that your client, Mrs Bethany Murray, has been admitted to this facility and is currently under its care.
If you have any questions or wish to reach out, please do so by contacting me at this email address.
Kind regards,
Dr Deirdre Mooney, MD
Consultant Psychiatrist
The Central Mental Hospital, National Forensic Mental Health Service (NFMHS) Portrane, Dublin.
Reading these words, happiness threads through every fibre in my body. Finally, after weeks of exhausting work, Bethany is where she needs to be. She’s getting the treatment and help that she needs. She’s safe.
Indeed, it’s a bittersweet moment. Regardless of what transpired between Ben and me, I’m content with the fact that our association achieved what it was meant to. Bethany is out of the Focus Facility, and her right to a fair trial has been protected. That’s all that matters.
As the time ticks towards midday, I stare out at the River Liffey. Its ripples are gentle, calm. A quiet, liquid serpent that winds its way through the busy centre of Dublin City.
Mr O’Leary’s voice cuts through the tranquillity. “Nick Carthy.” He’s standing right behind me.
Instinctively, I leap up from my chair and shake his hand. “Hello, sir.”
“I just wanted to say well done in the Murray appeal. You did a great job.”
“Tha-thanks, sir. That’s very kind of you to say.”
Wagging his hand, Mr O’Leary assures me, “Not at all. Credit where credit is due, Mr Carthy.”
My cheeks redden.
Mr O’Leary licks his lips and then continues. “I thought you might like to know that Ursula and I have decided to undertake more work with Ben Kehoe. He’s an exceptional advocate, which you know, and we think he’d be a great asset to our work here.”
At the mention of his name, the tower of stability I’d created collapses.
Internally, my body is falling to pieces.
My heart snaps in half. My stomach plummets as low as the ocean floor.
My lungs are drained of all their oxygen.
And all of my muscles lose their strength.
Externally, however, I fight hard to hold everything together in front of Mr O’Leary.
Digging my nails into my palms, I nod for him to proceed.