Page 53 of The Family Across the Street
His anger has grown, thrived. He has kept it fed as his father wanted him to do. Anthony never thought about the cruelty of turning a child against his mother, only of finding a way to cause pain. The idea of her child as a pawn between them has eaten away at her but she could never fight Anthony’s skill at manipulation.
But something has happened to bring him here today, to do this. She has known this all day as she has watched him, and it seemed to her that something was missing in the way he looked at her and at George and Sophie, some spark of compassion that all human beings should feel for each other. And she knew that she and her children were in danger. The man Patrick had no shred of the boy Patrick.
He was an angry, hate-filled stranger. And that meant he was capable of anything.
She should never have given him her address, never have let him know where she was and what was happening in her life – but how could she have known what he would one day do?
Blinking slowly, she watches him as he rubs his head in distress, remembering him as a toddler doing the same thing. I can’t do it, Mum, help me, help me.
And then he lifts the gun to his own temple and she wants to shout no, to scream it and grab the gun, but she can’t move.
Her body is heavy and she is no longer hot but growing cold.
A sound makes her try to turn her head and she manages a slight movement. Everything is hard, impossible.
Someone else is in the room. A giant of a man, tattoos everywhere.
Katherine thinks she may be hallucinating.
‘What are you doing here?’ Patrick asks him, and she has a moment of feeling grateful that the man is indeed there. Perhaps he has come to help, but she finds that she doesn’t care if he has or not. The children aren’t here. She cannot hear them in the house and she prays they are with Gladys or another neighbour. George will tell someone to call the police.
And then… her eyes blink slowly. She is very tired. She wants to sleep. She cannot feel any pain in her wrist and she’s happy that her children are not here to see this. Only one child is here, only her first-born, and it seems to her now that this is always how it was supposed to go. She used to worry about him so much when he lived with his father and when he was at boarding school and when he became an adult and moved away. What will become of him? What kind of a man can he be after everything that has happened to him? He never wanted to meet John, never wanted to know his half-brother and sister. George and Sophie were her second chance at motherhood and she is grateful that they are here in the world. They will miss her but they will be alive to miss her and that’s the most important thing.
I can let go now, she thinks. I can close my eyes and rest. Patrick and the man are talking, arguing, she’s not sure but it goes on and on. Her eyes open and close, open and close. She needs to rest, but as her eyes begin to close again, she hears shouting, running. Her second son, her little boy, bursts into the room, arms whirling, and launches himself at Patrick, fury in his words.
‘You leave my mum alone!’ Such strength, such determination.
No! she wants to tell him, to shout to make him stop. He’s not supposed to be here but she cannot speak.
‘Wait!’ shouts the man, and he moves as her body gives up the fight to stay conscious.
She doesn’t hear the next gunshots. She doesn’t hear anything else.
45
Logan
It’s him. He’s been worrying that the man who hurt his sister, that Patrick, would come looking for him, and all day he’s been here, terrorising this woman and her children. Why? What on earth does he have to do with them?
Logan stares at the man holding the gun and then he glances at the woman lying across the sofa, her blood soaking into the blue material.
‘Patrick,’ says Logan. He feels stupid, lost. He has no idea where to begin. Patrick is holding the gun at an angle so he could easily shoot the woman again, or just as easily shoot Logan. He is sweating, his hand shaking, and he keeps looking at the woman and looking away as though he cannot witness what he’s done.
‘How did you find me?’ asks Patrick. ‘How did you find me before I found you?’ He is as confused as Logan is. ‘Did you get my text? Is that how you…’ He stops speaking, his eyes darting around the room.
Patrick was coming for him. Why is he here?
‘I wasn’t looking for you,’ says Logan.
‘I hurt Maddy,’ whines Patrick, and he lifts his arms above his head, the gun still clasped tightly with one finger resting on the trigger. He takes a ragged, anguished breath. ‘I hurt Maddy,’ he repeats.
‘I know,’ says Logan, and although he wants to be angry, furious, to step forward and wrench the gun out of Patrick’s hand and shoot him with it, he doesn’t move. There is a chance that no one else will get hurt. He can see regret on Patrick’s face, and if he handles this correctly, it can end right now.
‘Maybe it’s time to put that down,’ says Logan.
‘I don’t think so, I don’t… I didn’t mean to hurt her… I just…’ He looks at the woman again.
Logan raises his hands, hoping to calm Patrick, who is pale and jittery. ‘If you just put the gun down, we can talk and then it will be fine. I need to call an ambulance for her, I need to get her some help. Can I do that?’ He bends his knees a little, gets ready to dive towards Patrick, knock him over.
