I Confess. Alex Barclay

this minute.’

      Patrick walked towards the sink behind her, his heart hammering, his eyes never leaving the picture. She was holding it between her thumb and index finger like it was dirty. He just wanted it back. It was his favourite picture and it was his favourite imaginary day. He knelt up on the chair. She lowered her left hand into the sink, and he watched the page disappear after it.

      Patrick let out a moan. ‘No, Mammy. Mammy, no!’

      Mrs Lynch lifted her hand slowly from the water, and tossed the picture to one side, where it clung, briefly, to a bucket of potato skins.

      The same hand went into the sink again, and she rattled the dishes around to make space. Patrick jumped at the speed her right hand came down on the back of his neck. She plunged his head under the water, and his forehead struck the edge of a thick glass tankard. His scream, reflexive, and submerged, sent a rush of bubbles from his nose and mouth.

      ‘Jesus Christ Almighty!’ said Mrs Lynch, yanking him up. ‘You could have split your head open on that!’

      When she was angry, her sentences came in a low snarl with highs like sparks from embers. She plunged him under again.

      He had time to taste the water, and it tasted of cabbage and fish and bleach. She pulled him out again, and he hung from her grip, gasping, and red-eyed. Then she gave him three hard shakes – his prompt.

      ‘Sorry, Mammy,’ he said. ‘I’m sorry! I’m sorry!’

      She held him there, spluttering, his head bowed, a string of saliva hanging from his lip, until, eventually, her body relaxed.

      Sorry was his mother’s drug. She needed to hear it for every transgression, real or concocted. She had never heard it from the husband she had kicked out. Not even on the last day she had seen him, when he left her to her insanity, and her fury, and their seven-year-old son, whose blond hair glowed red under the flickering bulb of a Sacred Heart light.

       10

      Edie left the dining room, the pages of the notebook wrapped inside a napkin, gripped tight in her trembling hand. She stopped, briefly, in the hallway and let out a long breath. Johnny jogged up behind her. She jumped.

      ‘Hey, hey, hey,’ he said. ‘What’s up?’

      ‘Oh!’ said Edie. ‘Nothing! It’s … ridiculous. I’m … nervous about dinner.’

      ‘You need to get some more Prosecco into you.’ He looked at her. ‘Or maybe not. You’re white as a sheet.’

      ‘I bent down and got up too quickly,’ she said. ‘You were right, though – I don’t know what I was thinking, cooking.’

      Johnny put his hands on her shoulders and made her loosen them out. ‘Breathe. It’s our friends. No one cares. Everyone’s drinking away, happy out.

      ‘You’re playing a blinder.’

      ‘Thanks,’ said Edie.

      ‘What do you want me to do?’ said Johnny.

      ‘Keep everyone entertained for five minutes. I need to nip to the office. Then I’ll get the starters.’

      ‘I can do that,’ said Johnny.

      ‘It’s fine – go do your thing.’

      She walked down the stairs in to the office, her legs shaking. She went over to the safe, crouched down and punched in the code. She pulled open the door and slipped the pages into one of her folders and closed it again.

      Edie stood outside the honesty bar, the heels of her hands pressed against her eyes. She straightened up, took in a deep breath, smiled, and opened the door.

      ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, ‘Dinner is now served.’

      Everyone cheered. Johnny held the door open as they filed out and followed Edie down to the dining room. Edie checked she had everyone’s attention before she opened the tall double doors with a flourish. The chatter petered out as they walked in. Laura banged into the back of Helen’s chair when she stopped just inside the threshold, her hand to her mouth.

      ‘Oh Edie,’ was all Helen could manage. ‘Oh Edie,’ she said again, lifting her hand and waving it in front of her, as if to introduce the room. She turned to the others. ‘You can imagine what this is normally like – formal, elegant … Edie. And this … This—’

      ‘Designer forest clearing,’ said Clare.

      Everyone laughed.

      Helen’s eyes, when they met Edie’s were shining. ‘Now, this,’ she said, ‘This is what it feels like to be seen’. Edie bent down to hug her. ‘Thank you,’ Helen whispered in her ear. They embraced for a long time, before pulling apart, both laughing and wiping away tears. ‘And thank you, Johnny.’

      ‘Pleasure,’ said Johnny. ‘Absolute pleasure.’

      ‘Come in. Come in, everyone,’ said Edie.

      ‘I’ll go get the starters,’ said Johnny.

      ‘Thanks,’ said Edie. She turned to the others. ‘I didn’t do place names, but I did do place photos.’ She smiled.

      Clare found hers first. ‘Oh, thank God – no perm.’ She squinted at it. ‘And it looks like I’ve got the hang of Immac.’ She ran a finger across her upper lip, and made a face.

      ‘That state of me!’ said Laura, holding her photo up. ‘I haven’t changed a bit.’ She leaned into Murph’s. ‘What’s yours?’

      He gave her a sad smile as he handed it to her. ‘Me and the love of my life.’