Despite Jack’s attempt at solidarity with his wife he hoped that his granddaughter was right. Deep down he knew that this act of madness wasn’t just a result of his wife going off the rails. There was something eating at her soul, robbing her of all joy and peace. Something inside her agitated and aggravated and sought to destroy her. He knew it; he just couldn’t put his finger on what. We lost our girl, Molly, but why all this?

Chapter Seventy-Three: Grace

Chapter Seventy-Three

Grace

THE HOLDING CELL WAS located down a long narrow corridor at the back of the courthouse. Molly sat on a bench attached to a wall. She was pale, and despite her crossed arms Grace could see that her mother was trembling. Sergeant Fogarty felt it would be best if the family entered the cell one by one, as opposed to overwhelming the woman.

‘She’s in a fraught state. Best course is one on one,’ he said.

Grace put her hand up. ‘Me first, Sergeant Fogarty.’

‘Call me Kevin.’

‘Me first, Kevin,’ she said.

‘That all right with you, Mr Hayes?’

Jack nodded. ‘Call me Jack.’

He let Grace into the cell and she sat on the bench beside her mother.

‘They frisked me, coming in here,’ she said, taking her sandwiches in tinfoil out of her bag. ‘I thought they’d take these.’ She unwrapped them and handed one to her mother. Then she took one out for herself and took a bite.

‘Tuna,’ she said. ‘Lenny’s mad for tuna.’

Molly put hers down on the bench and scratched her head.

‘You’re going to apologise, Ma,’ Grace said.

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Ma, this is serious.’

‘Grace, I know how serious this is.’

‘You’re not achieving anything. You’re just being stubborn.’

‘Sometimes you have to stick by your guns, no matter what,’ Molly said.

‘You can’t win here.’

‘It’s not about winning, it’s about staying the course, right to the end.’

‘BOLLOCKS,’ Grace said. ‘You’re just being a stubborn old goat and you know it.’

Molly sighed, picked up the sandwich, opened it and rubbed the tuna in Grace’s hair.

‘Oh, very mature,’ Grace said, pulling the bread off her head.

‘You have my answer, Grace,’ Molly said.

‘Unbelievable.’ Grace put her tinfoil sandwiches back in her bag. ‘You’ve lost it, Ma. I hope you know that.’

‘I do,’ Molly said.

Grace took out The Little Book of Prison and handed it to her mother. ‘This is from your grandson.’

Grace emerged from the cell, with tuna chunks in her hair.

‘Who’s next?’ Kevin said.

‘Me,’ Davey said, fixing his shirt and stretching his neck.

Grace sat down on a chair alongside her father, niece and poor distraught Pauline.

‘Is that tuna in your hair, love?’ she said.

‘Yep.’

‘You don’t have any more in your bag?’

‘Yep.’