The Healer Read online

  ‘You know what I’m after,’ he says aloud in the kitchen with no fear in him. ‘A virgin like you is what I’ve been dreaming of.’

  I grip the knife tighter.

  ‘A fine beauty like you needs taking sooner rather than later. The horn on me is huge. There’ll be no stopping the need that’s on me, Molly.’

  I hate that he can say my name and have no fear from what I might do to him. I swear to the angels that I’ll stop his heart if I get the chance. I won’t be weak and let him hurt me. He killed my Hull and he will pay for that.

  He peeks in behind my curtain and my breath stops. His eyes are on fire, his grin large and wide. He’s naked. There’s not a stitch on him and his mickey is high and looking at me too. The brute sees the knife. It doesn’t bother him. I slash it towards him but corner myself in the bed against the wood, with nowhere to go. He creaks onto the bed and gets nearer to me.

  ‘Give me that knife now,’ he mutters and waves his right hand at me and grabs at the knife with his left. In a second he has it from me. Despite my grip on it and the anger in me, he has the knife. I’m helpless. ‘Give in to me now, lass. There’s nothing you can do. Attention from a man like me is the best you’ll ever get. Lie down there now and give yourself to me.’

  I lung to get past him. In a blink, he has the knife to my throat. The heavy stench of ale is on my cheek and his hairy chest is against my arms and back.

  ‘I’m used to holding my own, on the streets of Dublin. I fight with men for a living, Molly, there’s nothing the likes of you can do to hurt me.’ He grabs my wrist and pulls me out of the bed and bashes my tummy forward and onto the thin mattress. He yanks at my nightdress and pulls at me, panting and promising, ‘I’ll give you the fuck of your life. And don’t you move or I’ll cut you good and proper and even you won’t stop the bleeding.’

  I can’t fight him. The weight of him is too heavy. Fear makes me freeze. I can’t wriggle even. I don’t move.

  He’s kicked my legs apart and his fingers are poking at me. I wouldn’t even put my own fingers there. I cry. No sound comes out. There’s a pressure trying to get inside me. It hurts and stings long and up into me. No sound leaves me. He thrusts and pushes and takes what he wants. He stops to breathe and ‘enjoy it’. I sob into the blanket and smell Hull.

  ‘Stop please. Make it stop,’ I say in my head at least. ‘I’ll do anything. Just make it stop.’

  He groans on and the burning isn’t as bad. It goes on and on. He leans over my back and grabs a fist of my hair and pulls.

  I don’t know when he stops. I don’t hear what he says. I’m away in the darkness. My knees buckle under me and I fall to the floor. He’s not in the kitchen. There’s no-one and nothing to help me. The shadows have their hands in my hair that’s tangled from Vincent’s fists in it. I push them off me and away. They were of no use to me when I needed them the most. I’m angry. Between my legs aches. My thighs are bruised. I can feel his finger tips and nails still on my side and legs. The pressure of him up inside me hasn’t gone away. I can’t even try to heal myself. I’m lost and almost dead inside.

  20

  Bredagh bustles out earlier than usual to catch the bus, and either doesn’t see the way I am or doesn’t want to. Either way, I’m alone on the floor. The birds chirp on. I look at the ashes in the fire grate and everything inside me shrivels up. No words come and my tears stop. Then he’s in the kitchen near the door, calling for me to ‘make tea’.

  The poison he used can’t be far away. If I could just find that poison.

  ‘There will be more nice times like that, if you’re clever,’ Vincent tells my back. I turn away from the noise of him. ‘You’ll need to get washed up. Your father will be wondering what’s up with ya.’ He touches my back with his foot. Every inch of me moves back from him.

  I scream.

  Loud and long it echoes around the place. I don’t need to look to know he’s pulling on his boots. There’s a scuffle of a coat off the hanger by the door and he’s warning me, ‘No-one will believe the likes of you. A woman who can barely speak and me your father’s brother. No-one will believe ya.’

  Daddy is on the stairs. I recognise his footsteps, even though my eyes are closed. ‘What’s all the racket? Are you being silly over that dog?’

  Vincent mutters, ‘That’s it. She’s a lunatic, Michael! Took to screaming at me.’

  ‘I’ll ready myself for the work and then light that fire. She’s not up for much today.’ Daddy’s back upstairs where the floorboards creak. Vincent is by the door lifting the latch. The air from outside rushes in to where I am on the floor. He stands a while, thinking of how to silence me further. Then his stale breath hits my ear, ‘I’ll kill your precious daddy if I have to,’ he says into my hair. ‘And everyone will blame you. I’ll make sure of it.’ His hand grips my shoulder. I howl again. Loud and long and piercing it startles him. I even scare myself.

  ‘Shut up with that roaring!’ Daddy calls as he races into the kitchen. ‘The neighbours will hear ya. For the love of God, what’s the matter with ya?’

  Vincent is gone. I peer through my matted hair as Daddy shakes my two shoulders. I’m still whimpering like an animal that’s been hurt, as he tells me over and over, ‘It’s only a dog.’

  Hull was more than a dog to me. I can’t find the words to tell him what’s happening. There’s probably not much need for me to say it anyway. If Daddy’s mickey worked he’d probably want the same from me. Bredagh has told the women at the crossroads while we wait on the bus, that there’s no need for Michael to worry her during the night. They’d laughed a bit that I couldn’t heal people from the effects of the drink.

  Daddy pushes my hair back. He tries to get me to look at him. ‘Molly, it’s only a dog.’ My legs have no power. He lays me on the bed and tells me, ‘Close your eyes a while now, child. Bredagh doesn’t like Mrs McLaughlin knowing our business and taking the money on days like this anyway. Another day off won’t kill ya.’

  I can’t answer him. My knees are grazed where they rubbed off my settle-bed. I know that there’s worse than that in me. I am damaged beyond repair.

  21

  I also know that Aunt Bredagh will come back and force me to get up. She’ll not listen to any moans or groans and definitely won’t hear a bad word said about the animal who…

  She’ll not listen. She never does hear me. This is too much for me to explain to the likes of her and Daddy. There are no words in me at the best of times for Aunt Bredagh. Daddy is lost to me.

  Now that beast has taken… He’s done his worst. What can Daddy do about it? What would he do? I know the answer is nothing. Like everything else, I’ll need to gather myself and survive this.

  ‘Heal yourself, you amadan!’ Bredagh will spit at me. ‘The boys never moaned. Thank God, I had boys. Why I took on a halfwit like you, I’ll never know!’

  I can hear her and see her say it, as plain as I can the ashes in the grate. The smell of Vincent is on me, fluid from him is on the inside of my thighs. His hands were tangled in my nightdress and in my hair. It’s as if they are still there. His fingertips dug into my skin. He was in me and through me over and over. I can’t move or think of it. I mustn’t think of it.

  Mammy wouldn’t have helped me either. Father Sorley couldn’t listen to the likes of this! Mrs McLaughlin knows men and their badness. But sure, I couldn’t even wish her well on her daughter’s engagement, so there’s not much chance of me finding the way to explain this mess to her.

  How could I tell any of them what he did? No-one must ever know. It must never happen again. Jesus, it couldn’t happen again. Surely, it couldn’t happen again?

  Rising onto my grazed knees, I pray for at least an hour that he never gets to do this again. Ranting and panting out words I bargain with the angels, the saints and the Lord himself. I offer them my happiness, my soul, my everything, and last of all, I tell them to take my gift. This must never happen again.

  The shadows listen. I
can’t see them, I won’t see them. They let this happen. My battered life is broken. I won’t hum or heal. I’ve pain inside that even I can’t or won’t touch. To fix it will mean it will go and all will be better. Nothing will ever be better again. Nothing will ever be healed.

  I know I’m wailing like a banshee. I tear the nightdress off me. The curls in my hair that I can get at are hacked off with the bread-knife. I throw on my coat and take off up the lane, to the river.

  The untied boot-laces make me stumble and take me out of my daze. I just want to get away. The river’s running wild, the flow full and fast. The edges are shallow and the pebbles smooth on the soles of my feet. I slip in and let the coat float up and out. The water cleanses my skin and eases my bruises. The icy fingers ask me to go deeper, to lunge out to where I would be washed down stream, where I would drown and be away from…

  It’s then I hear a voice in my ear, as strong as a human whisper.

  ‘No, Molly. No.’

  I swing around. There’s no-one there as I watch the trees and swaying grasses. The coat is holding me down now, sodden it clings to my legs and back. I’m cold and shivering, inside and out, but the shadows are murmuring that I’m cleaned of him and that they will help me. Ignoring them, I take to the bank and thrust back on my boots and tie the laces. The place where we laid Hull to rest isn’t far but I can’t go there now. I steer myself homeward. Home shouldn’t fill me with dread. Home should lift my heart and hold it high. My home is hell itself.

  I ignore the twitching net-curtains of the neighbours and stride back up the lane. I’m determined to dress myself and make my way to the Violet Cottage, where I will stay with Jude, Violet and Jane and my Dr Brady forever more. Nothing will make me stay with the walls and the horror of my hell.

  My stomach rumbles as I glance around to see what’s mine and what’s precious to me. Nothing is. I throw my sodden coat back on over my dry dress. My bicycle wheel is flat and I dare not take Bredagh's. There is nothing for it but for me to take to the road, like a gypsy. Snot reaches my mouth, and swiping it aside brings more from my nose. There’s a dark car slowing down. I raise my hand to greet whoever is gawping at me. I’m a sorry sight and the grapevine will have it told that I am in ‘a bad way’.

  The bus wouldn’t take me to Dr Brady’s house even if I could face the stares from them all on the bus. I’m a source of wonder at the best of times. The road blurs before me as I remember a time long ago when I stumbled with no direction and my saviour found me and took me in. The day is fresh and dry with a greyness hunkering over everything. I stride painfully on. It’s not far in the grand scheme of the world. But getting to my new life is taking longer than I would like. I am sore all over, hunched as I snot into my sleeves and waver on the road. I long for Jane’s arms as I turn into the lovely new gateway that Violet had made, and follow the fancy path stones to their back door.

  Thin, tiny but strong arms take me into them without a word. Jane’s floured hands pat my back and she mutters, ‘Molly pet, whatever is the matter? Did you walk all the way here? You’re all damp and it is dry outside? Lord love you little’n, whatever is the matter?’

  Violet comes into the kitchen and holds her hanky forward as Jane hugs me in a few more times. ‘Let her speak,’ Violet says, as I sob on.

  ‘Bredagh or Michael? Which of them hurt you?’ Jane asks, waiting on my reply after I blow my nose. There’s a silence apart from my chest thumping and my heart racing. ‘Molly, your hair? Why are you wet me darlin’? Talk to us now, please?’

  I shake on at my head and cry into her shoulder. ‘We know she can take a beating, so it’s worse than that. And where’s Hull?’ Jane says at Violet. ‘Whatever happened has hurt her heart. Look how she clutches at it.’

  I’m weak with it all. The tea and bread lies untouched, despite all of their trying to get to me eat and drink.

  ‘The doctor will know what to do. I’ll get him in here now.’

  The squeal that leaves me shocks them both.

  ‘Jude can’t see her like this,’ Violet says. ‘I’ll get Richard, he’ll make this better, Molly, I promise. We’ll make this all better. Wait until I get Dr Brady.’

  22

  I open my eyes. The room is familiar and the pillow is soft. It is mine, yet it all belongs to Dr Brady and Violet. There’s a picture of The Hay Wain, which I love. There’s nothing here that’s mine, though.

  I slept. The doctor gave me something, ‘to calm me’. I turn over and see his beard smiling at me and his weight sits on the bed. I don’t want to see his pity. I turn my back to him.

  ‘It’s bad then?’

  I nod.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Vincent.’

  Saying his name makes vomit rise in my throat.

  ‘Your hair?’

  His hand is touching me, I don’t want anyone to touch me ever again. I move away.

  ‘What happened?’

  The question brings me back to when my body was hurting. To when those hands were on me, and the noise of him was grunting and there he was pushing and poking.

  ‘Don’t ask me.’

  ‘I’ve seen this before. Did he take you against your will?’

  ‘Don’t ask me that or touch me. Please don’t touch me.’

  ‘My poor Molly. I promise you that there are good men in this world. Caring, loving men and you’ll find one like Jane reads to you about. There are good times to come, my little precious one.’

  I close my eyes, tired of the promising I listen to. My patience is gone, waiting on these better days. Nothing will ever be clean or right again. No wishing, no healing, or praying will take me away from this knot in my gut and the scar across my soul.

  ‘Did he hack at your hair?’

  His tone makes it seem like this is the worst bit. I shake the red curls that are left.

  ‘Violet’s getting the tin bath out for you in the kitchen. Once it gets dark, take your time and wash it all away. We’ll tell…’

  ‘No-one.’

  He’s sitting on and the shadows are too. His air is sad, then angry, then sad again. Like them all downstairs, he’s trying to fix me, make it all ease, but they weren’t there when I needed them. I’m not going to make it easy for them. The doctor can’t give me a pill or an injection to take all of this away. He shouldn’t have left me there. I should have been here in this bed, in this home – for years. They left me to the demons and the walls that seep out badness. I was abandoned.

  ‘Hull?’ he asks me.

  ‘Dead,’ I tell him. I don’t cry. I want to scream and roar but instead my limbs and stomach curl inwards.

  I can feel his movements and him muttering, ‘Mother of God.’

  ‘Poisoned.’

  He’s crying; for his own honour which is ruined. He failed to protect us from the evil in the world. He has no right to cry, no right to be upset. Nothing has happened to him at all! All his life, he’s been sheltered, protected and loved. He’s lived with goodness in his walls and in those around him. He’s never had to heal himself or had any reason to feel lost inside. The very sight of him does my heart good but right now I can’t bear to near him.

  ‘Please, go away.’

  * * *

  When I waken, I’m alone with the ceiling and the room. The bed is cosy and the air is warm. All is well in my brain, until I move. Then it floods back in, all of it washes over me and I die all over again. The night goes on. I start to hum. I hold my heart and between my legs. I urge the badness out and let the light of the morning in.

  I take the large saucepan of boiling water off the range and toss it into the tin bath and place on another to boil. The soap stings my eyes but I wash and scrub until I am red raw. The water’s milky and shallow but on and on I rub. I’m clean, dry and dressed, when Jane lifts the latch on the back door and comes into the house.

  Jane’s small but her smiles can fill a room. She takes off her coat. ‘Let’s pretend all is well with the world, eh?’ Jane moves the
kettle onto the hot plate and gets the flour to start on the bread-making she does. Her apron is wrapped around her and she looks at me between her chores. I sip lukewarm tea.

  ‘The doctor says there’s no Hull?’

  She misses him too; his nose in her apron looking to be fed all the time, his paws muddying her floors, the dribbling water from his drink bowl by the scullery door. I don’t want to think of never feeling his fur again, or hearing him bark.

  ‘Them bastards,’ she says.

  I like her cursing. She chances it when out of ear-shot from the doctor and Violet. Jude copies her sometimes and she bribes him to stop with buns and cakes. Jane reads my mind and says, ‘We’ll just tell Jude that Hull died?’

  I agree. Jude knows nothing of the badness in the world. I’m glad of that. It was decided a long time ago not to tell him of his blood or his relationship to me. He’s never had to see Daddy or know he’s not the doctor’s and Violet’s own son. No-one has spoiled his innocence – yet.

  He’s theirs and they’re his. His life is better this way.

  ‘You came here when you were eight. The age Jude is now. Times were hard for you then, Molly, but look how far you’ve come. How beautiful you’ve become and how strong. I know the doctor and Violet aren’t fond of your healing, but don’t let anyone destroy what you have. What Jude has. We must protect him now.’

  I wish she’d stop that talk.

  ‘Jude doesn’t need to know of the past. His future is what’s important.’ She’s afraid that I’ll spill the apples of truth when my mind is in a mess. ‘He’s happy here and all is best this way.’

  ‘Best? For who?’

  She sits and looks at me. The tiles are earthen colours and have scratch marks and damage on them from the wear of time.

  ‘It’s best for Jude. Do you want him to have to deal with all you cope with?’