Restless Hearts

By Stephen O'Sullivan

When Tom and Emily Wilks lose their daughter in a road traffic accident, the shattering event proves to be a catalyst that brings suffering and anger to the surface from generations both living and dead that spans a hunderd years, building up to a stunning climax.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AUK Authors
• Release date: Jan 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781849898799

Stephen O'Sullivan

Stephen O’Sullivan lives in Dublin City, Ireland. He works as a service technician for an international security company.He first put pen to paper three years ago when his young daughter asked him to write a story for her. After just a few sentences, he was addicted to writing and hasn’t paused since.Anderson’s Gold is Stephen’s first novel, but many of his short stories have been published in various magazines and newspapers.

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Title Page

RESTLESS HEARTS

By

Stephen O’Sullivan

Publisher Information

Restless Hearts published in 2011 by

Andrews UK Limited

www.andrewsuk.com

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior written consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published, and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

The characters and situations in this book are entirely imaginary and bear no relation to any real person or actual happening.

Copyright © Stephen O’Sullivan

The right of Stephen O’Sullivan to be identified as author of this book has been asserted in accordance with section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights Designs and Patents Act 1988.

Prologue

The cell was larger than Robbie had expected, but then it had to be if it was to accommodate the two guards for the duration of his stay. Incarceration gave him a lot of time to reflect; too much time; more than he was comfortable with. He thought once again about the events that would very soon lead to his demise.

The two girls had just stared at their little brother, neither knowing what to do, as he and Maisie had fretted over him. The doctor eventually came, but he could do nothing to help the child.

The boy died in his father’s arms at seven o’clock that evening. Robbie had to be pulled off the doctor by some of his neighbours, as he pummelled his fists into the doctor’s head and chest. The diagnosis for his son was pneumonia.

For Robbie, the rest of the events, up until the present, were muddled and fuzzy, soaked heavily in continuous drinking bouts that fuelled his anger and prevented the pain from ripping his heart out. In the cell, the realisation of what he had done, and the pain he had caused his family were seeping into him; causing more physical pain and mental anguish, than he thought could ever be experienced by a person. His only consolation was that he would only need to fight with it for a little while longer; then a hangman’s noose would hopefully take it all away.

The two guards sat impassively at the same table as him. It was a task they had undertaken many times before, and their experience and self-assurance contributed to a calm atmosphere in the cell. The intention was to maintain the mood just so, until the time came for the execution. They would accommodate the prisoner as best they could, within reason, and they would try to keep everything as impersonal but as friendly as possible. Both the prison guards had been on duty before at times when a condemned prisoner had completely lost self-control and had had to spend his last hours tightly bound and gagged. Everything would be done to avoid this, but the unfolding of events depended largely on the prisoner.

In the hours they had spent with him, Robbie hadn’t spoken much, but he was, as a lot of the condemned prisoners were, in a state of bewilderment and shock from the fact that this is how his life would end. He was more affected by the shame and indignity of it all than by the fear of a premature death.

What time is he coming, again? he asked.

He’ll be here at six, said one of the guards. Are you sure you don’t want a breakfast? It helps sometimes.

No. No thanks. I just want it over with. What happens afterwards?

The guards looked at each other, and Williams turned to back to him. How do you mean, exactly?

After it’s over, said Robbie. What happens to me?

Once they’ve established that you’re…that it’s over, well, then you’re taken down and you’ll be buried in the prison cemetery.

Do you get a proper burial? A Christian one? Is the grave marked properly?

If that’s what you want…we can see to that for you. Williams replied. He looked across the table at his colleague, who, as he expected, didn’t react to his lie.

How will my family know that it’s over? Does somebody go and tell them?

A formal notice is posted on the prison gates. They’ll find out soon enough.

I feel like I want to talk now. Do you mind?

Not at all, but there’s nothing either of us can do. You do understand that don’t you?

Yes, of course. I wasn’t expecting you to.

That’s fine then.

I was thinking about having the priest here. I’m not sure what to do.

That’s entirely up to you, replied Turner, the other guard.

This is stupid, Robbie stirred uncomfortably in his wooden chair.

Neither of the guards replied.

Here’s me wondering whether or not to see a priest. There can’t possibly be any hope for me. I’m going to rot in hell, and rightly so. I don’t deserve any forgiveness for what I did. It’s despicable. I’m despicable. He leaned forward and cradled his face in his hands. The two guards still sat impassively. Robbie wiped away the tears that had welled up in his eyes and sat up straight again.

Too late now, he said. It’s done and there’s nothing anyone can do about it. God forgive me.

Do you want a game of cards? Turner asked.

He ignored Turner’s question. Do you believe in God?

I suppose I’m as God-fearing as the next man. I’d like to think there is one, I suppose.

I do, or at least I did, said Robbie. No I suppose I still do. I don’t know; I’m all confused. I know I did. Then I didn’t anymore. In fact that’s not strictly true. I do believe in Him, in fact, probably more than ever, because now I hate Him. I believe in God so much, purely so that I can hate Him. I hate Him more than anything. How could He let that happen? I went to church you know. Not every Sunday, but I went regularly. Special days, like Christmas and Easter, and other times when it took my fancy. We’d all get dressed up to the nines and march down the street proudly, we did. I brought my kids up to respect their church. I was a good dad. I was a good husband as well. I went for a drink with my mates, but there’s nothing wrong with that, is there? I still provided, I always made sure that there was food on the table. I was a good dad, I really was.

Do you want a game then? Turner picked up the cards and shuffled them.

How many have you done then? he asked, still unintentionally, continuing to ignore Turner.

How many what? Turner replied.

You know? These things. Hangings. How many have you done?

Turner looked at his colleague for some assistance.

We’ve done enough. It really doesn’t do to dwell on these things, Williams said.

Does it hurt? The hanging part, you know? Is it really painful?

Look, what I would say to you is this; the more compliant you are, then the easier it is. It really is a simple as that. Just let it happen, and it’s over in an instant. You won’t feel a thing, believe me.

Robbie fidgeted in his chair.

You fellas’ got any kids?

Yes, I’ve got two, Williams replied. A boy and a girl.

I’m not married, Turner said.

Well let me give you some advice, Robbie said to Turner. Get yourself hitched up and get some kids. It’s the greatest thing in the world. Ask your mate here. What do you say? He turned to Williams.

Why don’t we just have a game of cards? Williams said.

No. No thanks. Not in the mood. What time is it?

Turner pulled out a pocket watch from his top pocket.

Twenty-past eleven.

How long left then? I was never any good at arithmetic.

About six and a half hours.

Not too long then. Soon be here, eh?

Why don’t you try and get a bit of kip, Williams said.

Kip? There’ll be time enough for that where I’m going, he chuckled nervously.

Well, if we don’t play cards, my colleague is going to rub all the spots off them, the way he’s shuffling them.

Yea, OK, why not? I’m not going anywhere am I? Well not yet anyway, Robbie chuckled nervously again.

That’s the spirit. What shall we play? Rummy?

Yea, whatever. Rummy’s fine.

Turner dealt the cards enthusiastically.

The remaining hours were spent playing a variety of card games, interspersed with small naps by the prisoner, as the tension took its toll on him.

Robbie asked the time again, as he had done regularly throughout the night.

Turner once again withdrew his pocket watch. Ten to six.

Robbie wiped his sweaty palms on the rough material of his prison-issue trousers.

Let’s do it then. They won’t be late will they?

No. No, they won’t be late. Turner tucked his pocket watch away.

The priest? Do you want him present? asked Williams

Yes, said Robbie. I’d like that. I’ve decided. I want him here.

Very well. There’ll be here very shortly.

At five minutes to six, footsteps echoed from the corridor outside the cell. Both the guards fixed their stare on the prisoner. The footsteps stopped outside the cell, followed by a jangling sound, before a key was thrust into the chamber of the cell door. The lock mechanism tumbled. The door opened briskly, and the Governor of the prison marched into the cell, followed closely by a priest, the prison doctor, and the executioner.

Robbie stood up sharply and the two guards rose immediately, positioning themselves either side of the prisoner. Robbie’s breathing became sharp and erratic; a haze developed before his eyes, accompanied by a buzzing in his ears, and then he collapsed unconscious onto the hard floor.

Williams hurried over to the door to the execution chamber. He unlocked the door, went inside, and came back out carrying a long wooden board with four leather straps evenly spaced out for the length of the board. He laid it down next to the prisoner and the two guards quickly picked up Robbie’s lame body and placed onto the board and wrapped the straps around his body. They buckled him securely to the board.

The priest opened his Bible at a pre-determined page and began to read from it aloud.

The guards took either end of the board, picked it up and hurriedly carried it into the execution chamber.

Once they were over the scaffold, they up-righted the board so that it stood vertically over the trap door.

While Williams and Turner balanced the board, the executioner, who had followed the guards into the chamber, grabbed at the rope and placed the loop over the prisoner’s head until it was around his neck. He tightened the noose.

The prison Governor and the priest came into the chamber, with the priest continuing to read from his text. The two guards stood clear of the trap door and the Governor nodded to the executioner.

The executioner pulled a lever and the prisoner’s body, still attached to the board, dropped sharply into the void beneath the trap door.

There was a muffled sound of bone snapping, and then silence.

Chapter One

July 9th 2000

He turned the car into the street and saw the ambulance with the lights flashing, as he brought the car to an abrupt halt and stepped out. None of the onlookers would look him directly in the eye. A police officer guessed that the driver was the father of the young girl, as the man tried to make his way around the ambulance. The officer grabbed him and ushered him through. A paramedic placed a blanket over the face of the man’s daughter as she lay lifeless on the stretcher.

Tom! His wife was sat on the back step of the ambulance, being comforted by a female police officer. She stood and rushed towards him, and he grabbed her and held her tight to him.

Emily, love. I can’t believe it, he said, as the tears started to run down his cheek.

I heard the screeching of tyres and then a sickening thud. Oh my God, Tom. When I came out she was lying in the road. Right outside the house. I knew she was dead. I knew it. Emily sobbed uncontrollably.

Tom held her more tightly to him.

***

The afternoon had slipped by yet again, as Emily sat in the armchair staring up at the clouds. It was a bright autumn afternoon, and the clouds were at their whitest; held motionless against the crisp blue sky. She had started to sit in that armchair soon after the funeral. Her eyes were always drawn to the exact place in the road where she’d found her daughter lying dead: the exact same place where the hearse had slowly come to a halt with her daughter housed inside the coffin that was laid out in the back of the hearse, almost obscured by floral tributes.

She knew that those particular images would stay with her forever; whereas the funeral and the months that had passed since that day were much less vivid.

Emily had made herself a virtual recluse since the accident and had switched off so many of her emotions and feelings. She had put them away from harm and wouldn’t let them out until she knew the pain had subsided and that it was safe to be able to feel again.

Tom struggled to deal with Emily’s refusal to accept their grief and immense loss, and could only watch on, helpless to do anything.

The front door slammed and brought Emily back from her daydream.

Tom entered the sitting room holding several pieces of paper in his left hand.

Come and sit over here at the table, love. I want to show you something, Tom said eagerly.

I’m tired. What is it?

Come and have a look. Come on, get up and come over here. He sat at the table and spread the sheets of paper out.

Emily meandered over to the table and reluctantly pulled the chair out and sat down, with considerably less eagerness than Tom was displaying.

What are these? she said, as she picked up the piece of paper closest to her.

What do you think they are?

They’re houses.

Well done, Einstein! They’re houses – houses that are for sale. Houses that we can afford to buy, once we’ve sold this house.

What are you talking about?

I really need you to trust me. I want you to trust me now more than you have ever done. Please!

What are you up to? she asked, as she gazed at the sheets of paper.

I think we should sell the house and leave all this behind us. It’s not doing either of us any good. It’s certainly not helping you. I really believe this is the right thing to do. You need to trust me, Emily. This is for you more than me.

I can’t…I can’t leave here…I can’t leave Louise. Emily was visibly stunned.

Yes you can, love. Louise isn’t here. She’s gone. You can’t continue to torture yourself like this. It’ll kill you. I won’t stand by and watch it happen. This is going to be a fresh start for the both of us. I need you to trust me on this. You don’t have to do anything – not a thing. I’ll do it all. Just leave me to it.

This is all so quick. I haven’t had time…I don’t know. Emily stood up and went back to sit in the armchair, turning to look through the window once again.

Tom followed her and knelt beside the armchair.

I know it’s the right thing for us to do. You’re not functioning: you’re like a zombie sometimes – sitting in that chair, staring out of the window aimlessly. Please leave me to it. Trust me, Tom pleaded.

Emily sighed heavily.

I just don’t know. It’s all so sudden. I’m so tired.

I know, love. I know you are. Trust me. I know it’s the right thing to do. I’ve arranged to view these houses this weekend. The estate agent is coming here to value this, and then it’s going on the market.

Emily turned to face Tom.

I’m not happy about it, but I’m too tired to think about it. She took his hand and held it between her palms. I’m not very well. I don’t know if I’ll ever be well again. I’ll have to trust you. You’re right. I can’t go on like this. I’m slowly dying inside. It’s not fair to you. You do what you think is right.

Tom smiled at her and leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek.

"I truly believe that this is the start of our healing. We’re moving on, Emily.

I hope so. I really do, she said, as she stared out of the window.

Chapter Two

Wednesday 14th February 2001

Tom took the last of the boxes from one of the removal men and placed it on the floor of the hallway. The driver of the removal vehicle was following closely behind with a clipboard.

That’s it then, sir, he said. If you could just sign this form we’ll be on our way. He handed over the clipboard which had a typed out form attached, and removed a pen that was wedged behind his right ear, handing that over at the same time.

Thank you very much, and may I wish you the best of luck in your new home.

Thank you. That’s very kind of you, Tom replied, as he reached into his trouser pocket and removed a twenty-pound note. Please, take this and get yourselves a drink.

Well that’s very kind of you, sir. Very kind indeed. He took the note from Tom and bid him farewell. Tom turned into the hallway and shut the front door behind him. Well, that’s it Emily, he said. All the boxes are in now. Where do you want me to start?

Emily came out of the front bedroom and leaned over the banister rail on the landing.

You can start by finding the kettle. I could murder a cup of tea.

Sounds good to me. Where will it be then?

There are several boxes marked kitchen. You’ll have to rummage through them. The kettle is in the same box as the toaster and the bread bin; if that’s any help.

Leave it to me, love. I’ll find it.

As he made his way down the hallway, the knocker on the front door sounded. Tom turned back around and walked towards the door.

Come in, Jean, he said as he opened the door.

Emily, your mum’s here. Tom ushered Jean into the front room.

How is she, Tom?

We’ve only just got here, she’s unpacking. Give us a chance will you. Tom made no attempt to hide his displeasure at Jean’s visit so soon to their moving in.

Now don’t be like that. I’m only trying to help. I just hope you’ve done the right thing that’s all.

Well that’s a matter for me and Emily isn’t it.

She is my daughter, you know.

She’s my wife! I put her welfare first, so don’t interfere.

Emily came into the living room and sensed the tension.

Are you two at it again?

Hello love. You’re looking a little tired. Jean hugged her daughter and pecked her on the cheek.

Hi mum. Don’t fuss about me, I’m fine. Would you like a cup of tea? We’re just looking for the kettle.

Sit yourself down here with me. I’m sure Tom is more than capable of making some tea. Aren’t you Tom?

Aren’t I what? He was unloading a cardboard box in the corner of the dining area and pulled out the electric kettle.

Capable, Tom.

Capable?

Of making a cup of tea? You can manage that can’t you? A smug grin formed across Jean’s lips.

Tom glanced at Emily and she looked back at him sympathetically; which only made Tom feel worse.

If you feel a bit stretched by it, just shout up and I’ll come and help you, Jean continued to goad Tom

Mum, stop it will you. We don’t need this right now. Moving house is stressful enough without you adding to it.

Stop what? Don’t tell me he’s getting himself all worked up again.

I am still in the room, you know, Tom protested.

"I noticed. Don’t let me keep you. Off you pop.