Page 14 of The Last Bench

‘I don’t want to upset either of you. It’s just that while I know what happened to Margaret, I’d love to learn a little more about how it happened. In particular, who was involved and if you feel blame lies anywhere,’ Vega replied.

‘Do you have children?’ Anne enquired.

Vega shook her head. ‘I’m not ready for kids. Not sure I ever will be.’

‘You’ll know if and when it’s the right time,’ Anne said. ‘John and I always knew we wanted a big family. I think we’ve shared enough with you to illustrate that. The four kids were close in age and best friends. But they were all so different. Mary, Margaret, Frances and Michael, each a unique individual with their own distinct personality. That’s the thing you learn as a parent. You can raise children in the same home, sharing the same experiences, but they’ll all grow up differently.’ She paused, then added, ‘React to stressful situations in completely different ways.’

John felt an ache grow in his chest. They had lived with the truth of this statement for decades. But the passage of time never dulled the pain.

‘Margaret was a straight-A student. All she ever wanted was to be a doctor, but the entrance requirements for university demanded a nearly perfect Leaving Certificate,’ Anne continued.

Anne glanced over to John, waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t speak. Because, even after all these years, he still blamed himself. Anne had worried and fretted about Margaret’s late nights, often sharing her fears with John. But he was convinced Margaret was managing everything and Anne’s worries were unnecessary.

For this, he would never forgive himself.

Anne sighed, then said flatly, ‘With that kind of dedication comes stress.’

‘I wrote a piece on the Leaving Certificate exams a few years ago,’ Vega said. ‘It horrified me how much mental stress the Irish system places on such young shoulders. The process is flawed, no doubt about it.’

‘That’s for sure.’ Anne closed her eyes as she spoke. ‘We drove to school to pick up Margaret’s results together, the three of us. Friday, the twenty-sixth of August, 1992. Thirty-three years ago.’ She sighed, opening her eyes again. ‘Margaret rushed into the school, a bundle of nerves and excitement. If anyone deserved seven A1s, it was Margaret.’

‘What did she get?’ Vega asked, biting her bottom lip.

‘Five A1s and two A2s.’

‘That’s still an incredible result,’ Vega said.

‘Yes, she was one of the top students at her school, and we were so proud of her. But Margaret was gutted, because she knew it wasn’t good enough for medical school,’ John said.

‘We told her how proud we were,’ Anne insisted. ‘She could reapply and re-sit again. But she wouldn’t discuss it with us, just clammed up and refused to talk about her options. Which was not like her, because she always talked to me. But, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get her to open up this time.’

Watching his wife in pain as she relived that horrific day was unbearable. John wanted to escape, to run away from this chapter of their life story. But he had learned that no matter where he ran, the pain always followed him.

Anne wrapped her arms round herself as she continued to recount their nightmare. ‘We were relieved when she told us she was going out with her friends as planned to a nightclub in Wexford. If she had a drink, let her hair down, she’d gain some perspective. Her friends would help her see things differently. John drove her into town, gave her some money, and told her to call for a lift home . . .’ Anne’s voice broke, and she began to cry softly. ‘I’m sorry . . . I can’t . . .’

Vega placed a hand on Anne’s shoulder. ‘You don’t have to continue. We can stop.’

Anne looked up to John, her eyes pleading with him to take over. He cleared his throat and pressed on. ‘The phone rang earlier than we expected. We were in the sitting room, watching Prime Time. It was Margaret’s best friend, Lorna, and she was hysterical. Margaret was on her way to Wexford Hospital in an ambulance. We left immediately, but by the time we arrived . . .’

Silence filled the air on that wooden platform. The birdsong, which earlier had sounded joyful, now became a mournful hymn.

Vega remained silent. No clichéd ‘I’m sorry’, just the quiet respect that the horror of their loss warranted.

Anne moved to John’s side, and they swayed into each other, offering strength once more, until their tears subsided.

‘Did the doctors confirm how she died?’ Vega asked softly when they pulled apart.

John noted the tears in Vega’s eyes, and he smiled sadly at her. She was a kind girl. ‘The doctors said that she’d taken ecstasy and that, in the hot environment of the club, combined with alcohol, Margaret had a heart attack. It’s rare. But it can happen,’ John said.

‘Had Margaret taken drugs before?’ Vega asked.

‘Her friends all swore, and we believed them, that none of them had dabbled. When they saw Margaret talking to a well-known drug dealer in the club, they were worried,’ John said.

Vega stood up and walked towards them both, her brow furrowed in a frown. ‘Can I ask if his name was Hinges?’

John looked at her sharply. Anne was right: Vega was chasing the Hinges element. Damn it! ‘How do you know that?’

‘I’ve come across him in my research on the drug crisis in the area,’ Vega replied. ‘And the Grants told me that they met you when you went to court during Hinges’s manslaughter trial. I put two and two together . . .’