are you doing?’ He flapped his hands in the air, grabbed her arm; she pulled it away.
‘Get off me.’
McArdle looked around. ‘Get inside. We’ll see about this in the house.’
Melanie lifted up the child and closed the car door. The shopping bags rested on the ground and she picked those up with her free hand. As she walked towards the front door, McArdle seemed anxious, rushing her forwards with his hands. ‘Come on, move… Get in.’
‘What’s the big rush?’
‘Just get in that fucking house!’
Melanie could feel a knot tightening in her stomach — when McArdle got this angry he was likely to strike out. She wasn’t scared for herself, though; she’d felt his punches too many times for that. She was afraid for the baby. If anything happened to the child she would be destroyed now. ‘Don’t talk that way, Devlin, you’ll upset the baby,’ she said.
He let her pass and pushed the back of her head down. ‘Shut up.’
Melanie spun round. She found strength she didn’t know she had. ‘You lay one finger on us and I’ll call the police.’
He looked stunned, his eyes bulging from below their heavy lids. ‘What did you say?’
Melanie held firm. ‘I mean it — you harm one hair on this child’s head, Devlin, and I’ll see you fucking hang.’ She felt as if her words were travelling on fire. She had never dared stand up to her husband before but she meant everything she said and she could see by the look on McArdle’s face that he believed her. He was shaken. He stepped aside and walked towards the house with his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. When he reached the doorstep he looked back, said nothing, then entered.
Melanie followed behind her husband and went into the kitchen, laid down the shopping bags. She returned to the living room and put the baby in the cot. McArdle was sitting silently on the sofa, gripping the armrest with his hand. She watched him for a minute and then she went back to the kitchen and started to unpack the shopping. She called out to McArdle as she went, ‘Where have you been all day?’
There was no answer.
She walked to the open door. ‘Devlin, where have you been?’
He looked distracted, miles away.
‘Just here and there… You know.’
Melanie held up the carton of baby milk. ‘You were supposed to get the stuff for the baby… What’s she supposed to eat?’
He looked at her; his mouth drooped. ‘I was too busy.’
The answer didn’t suit her. ‘Devlin, that’s not good enough. If you want to bring a baby back to this house for me to look after-’
He jerked from the seat, cut her off. ‘Melanie, for fuck’s sake, what are you playing at?’
‘ What?’
‘You’re just supposed to be looking after the fucking thing for a few days — you’re not adopting it. I told you not to go out. What were you thinking?’
She walked forward, faced him. ‘That we needed stuff?’
‘What if someone had seen you?’
‘Well, so what if someone had?… Look, what’s going on here, Devlin?’
He touched the sides of his head; his shoulders shrank. ‘You wouldn’t understand…’
Melanie put down the baby milk, grabbed her husband’s arms. He flinched, pulled away from her and returned to the sofa.
‘Devlin, I’m not bloody stupid. There’s something going on here and I want to know what.’
He grimaced, looked like a small boy putting his hands over his ears because he refused to be confronted with unpalatable truths. ‘Shut up!’
The baby started to cry.
‘No, no… I won’t. I want to know what’s going on.’
McArdle rose. His chest inflated as he grabbed Melanie by the arm, waving a fist at her. ‘Since when did you get the guts to talk to me like this?’
She started to squeal: ‘You’re hurting me, let go!’ The baby’s crying intensified. Melanie could see the child’s face reddening. ‘Let me go.’
‘I fucking well told you not to go out the house, Mel.’ He pulled her towards him and she struck out with her hands, clawing at his face. The three scratches flashed white on his skin for an instant and then the blood coloured them. McArdle dropped Mel’s arm, threw a hand to the scratches. ‘You fucking bitch…’
There was a sudden snapping noise, a pain in her stomach and then Melanie crouched over. The room seemed to have emptied of air, but then the realisation that she was struggling for breath came to her. As she looked up from the floor she saw McArdle holding a tight fist and she knew she’d been hit. As he drew it back and bowed over, her hearing became distorted. There was a flash of white light that seemed to block everything out and then it disappeared as everything went black.
Chapter 41
When Melanie McArdle came round her first thought was to check the baby was okay. As she tried to open her eyes, however, they felt stuck together. She tried again — nothing. She rubbed at the lids — they felt caked in something that crumbled to tiny particles as she touched it. When Melanie finally got her eyes open she looked at her hands and saw they were covered in dried blood. She felt the side of her head and found the gash that was responsible. It seemed to have stopped bleeding now, but there was a throbbing pain that increased when she touched it, making her feel sick.
Melanie put her hands out in front of her, raised her head. She felt woozy now; there was a metallic taste in her mouth and her tongue was dry. When she managed to get her head far enough off the carpet to take in the room she saw the baby sitting up in the cot; her face was flushed and her eyes looked red and sore. The child was wet and hungry, but Melanie was glad she was okay — she knew she couldn’t count on that situation lasting much longer.
As she dragged herself onto her knees, Melanie felt her stomach turn over, then a strange sensation like a wave pressing on her knocked her down again. Her head landed on the carpet and her eyes glazed for a second, but she was still conscious enough to hear McArdle laughing at her. She understood now he had kicked her in the back; as he stood looming over her she wondered what he would do next.
‘That you learned your lesson, is it?’ he said.
Melanie tried to speak, but her mouth felt numb, her lips were too swollen.
McArdle stepped over her, went to sit on the sofa. He didn’t look at her as she tried to rise again. It took some effort. Her head was heavy on her shoulders, much heavier than usual, and she thought she might fall again but she got to her knees and dragged herself onto the arm of the sofa, pushed herself up. On her feet she stood for a moment and watched McArdle point the remote control at the television. He found the news, put down the controller and started to rub at his reddened knuckles.
‘What are you looking at?’ he said. ‘If you’re up now you can go and get me a beer from the fridge.’
Melanie looked at him, her face burning and throbbing where he had hit her — she wanted to scream at him. But she didn’t have the strength. She felt more hate towards him than she ever had as she turned for the kitchen, dragging her battered body as though she was beginning a slow death march.
At the sink, Melanie ran the cold-water tap and tried to catch enough in her open palm to wet her lips. Her hands were already bloodied from rubbing her eyes and as she ran them under the tap the water she collected took on a pinkish hue. She stared at the cold liquid and splashed some on her face. It stung. The second attempt stung a little less but she could now feel the swelling under the skin. The thought of her battered features made her start to cry but she steadied herself and vowed not to be overcome by her emotions; she needed to be stronger if she was going to protect the child.
Melanie made her way back from the fridge with McArdle’s Carlsberg. She heard a roar from the living room.
