The Quiet Truth: a haunting domestic drama full of suspense Page 15

  ‘Thank you,’ my Ella says without a smile or a gleam in those familiar eyes.

  ‘We all feel like we know you. From all of the coverage over the years, we all think we know who Ella O’Brien is. Meeting you for the first time and listening to our researchers, I know that we do not know the real you at all. Why come forward now, Ella? Why talk now after all these years? Talk to us and explain your reason for granting us this interview.’

  Ella touches her hair, just as she used to, and I let all the past go – all of the angst sinks out of me as she breathes and looks into the camera.

  ‘Many people have made their minds up about me and about what I did. People hate me. Loathe me. I seem to be a figure to demean and debase. I’ve had dreadful things sent to where I’ve stayed over the years. As you say, those listening think they know me. I felt that it was finally time for my voice to be heard.’

  My Ella looks and sounds broken. A tired, wizened hand takes a heavy glass from the side table and shakes it towards her lips. Is this an act? Ella was never one for sympathy. She was tough as nails and unapologetic about her natural charisma. The nation must have cracked that veneer she possessed. That makes me sad. I gulp back tears. Is this all that is left of my Ella?

  Someone out of shot takes the glass of water back and she thanks them.

  ‘I understand that, Ella… why talk to me now after sixty years?’ the interviewer asks again.

  ‘You know why.’

  There is the Ella I remember. The defiant gal who swanned around the village making us lust after her. The camera focuses closer on many wrinkles and her drooping eyelids.

  ‘You felt affinity with that case recently. You felt a need to speak up because of the recent coverage around an incident similar to your own? That young girl who gave birth and who was…’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to use anyone else’s grief or situation for my own purposes. That is another person’s pain, another person’s story. I’ve no right to muddle into that pain. I’m not here to comment on that situation, other than to say that the coverage of this case has made me tired. It has made me cross, too, perhaps. We will never know what the real tale is, as no one is truly helping. People judge, they presume, they sit and half listen. They have no idea of anything. That is my point. That is what I’ve come here to say. Listen carefully and know all of the facts before judging any woman.’

  ‘You have our attention. The nation is watching and listening.’

  There’s her indignant stare. Bravo Ella! ‘That suits you well then, too, doesn’t it?’ she says at her host. ‘I’m not naive enough to think that you wish to help me. This will all rise your ratings.’

  The presenter looks stuck for words, toying with his pen. He looks flustered and gathers himself quickly. ’You know how to work things to your advantage, Ella. This has always been said about you. Is this true?’

  ‘An Irish woman shouldn’t be too pretty, too ambitious, too much of anything. It’s always been that way. You don’t like me as I’m too much for you to handle and manipulate. If I do work things to my own advantage that shows wit and intelligence – is that an evil thing? Are you trying to make me look bad already?’

  ‘Are you a feminist, Ella? Is that what you are?’

  Ella sighs and then touches the sweep of long hair going back into the golden clasp near that delicate ear. The style is old-fashioned now and it still suits her. ‘For the love of Mick,’ she says, gritting her teeth and dismissing the remark and looking at a notebook she takes from the side of the chair. Enthused by whatever is written on the paper, she takes a breath and says, ‘For most of my youth I wanted to be liked, accepted and loved. No matter what I did it never seemed to happen for one reason or another. I was too beautiful. Yes, you can look like that if you like – I was a stunning-looking woman. I wasn’t liked. I was too much; too harsh, too soft, too silly, too serious, the list goes on. People simply didn’t like me and I tried to change who I was – to be liked, accepted and loved – and look where it got me.’

  ‘The viewers will want us to say at this point, that this is not all about you. There were innocent babies involved. Three of your own children. Talk to us about them.’

  ‘They are…’ Her voice breaks. The host and the audience shifts uncomfortably. ‘This is why I’m here, of course. You are correct. There is more to speak about. And I might be able to talk to you about my three, precious babies.’

  42

  Charlie Quinn

  Reaching out from this uncomfortable chair, my fingertips touch the screen. I long to touch her hand. I’d squeeze it reassuringly and pat it to give strength now. My precious Ella is still there.

  She closes us out with those eyes and is transported back to when I wasn’t in her life.

  ‘I met my husband when we were both young and foolish. At secretarial college I was rejected by the other girls, for being hard-working, glamorous and confident. I was all of those things, and also impatient and not very friendly. I was full of myself and possibly did need a large kick in the arse. Who doesn’t at that age? The work itself and their chats about the future bored me silly. There was no incentive to do anything else other than land a good catch.

  ‘To succeed I found the best looker, a trainee medical student and he was from a well-to-do family. I was punching above my weight, as they say. I knew he was infatuated and yes, I tricked him into marrying me. I had my reasons, and if women are honest, they still need to work things… how do you put it…? Work things around to our advantage. There was a great deal about him that was hidden too. I wasn’t the only liar or bad person in the marriage.’

  Watching Ella I can see all that I loved about her and my gut writhes around as I can also tell how this honesty might sound to those judging from their chairs at home.

  ‘I thought I was in love – don’t we all? I didn’t know what love was then. Had no clue about what I was doing. Our families pretended to be delighted and we all ignored the bump in my expensive dress. The baby came way too early. Fully formed, though, it left me – and it was shocking how perfect the little thing was when the terrible pains left. Before you ask, I did nothing to harm the child, nothing to make him leave, nothing to hurt the innocence I had grown fond of. The child was stillborn. It wasn’t like I could ask questions, speak of it or find out what happened to the remains. Those many months and preciousness were swept away, like it never happened. That was it. Everything just went away – until it was needed to condemn me. I lost the baby and everyone wanted me to shut up, move on, smile and be resilient while listening to the gossip of how I snared a poor, gullible doctor.’

  ‘Let’s talk about your husband.’

  ‘I know his name has been everywhere. I know what that does to a person and their family. He is dead now and I find it hard to speak ill of someone who cannot speak for themselves. I wanted to bring this forward before his death. I was advised against it. I listened and totally regret that now. He was supposed to speak up for me before it was too late. I should have known he wouldn’t have done that. I’ve trusted the wrong people all my life.’

  ‘What might you say to him if he were still alive?’

  ‘I would laugh that he never got shot of me. Divorce isn’t possible and – the poor beggar was stuck with Ella O’Brien. Even for him, that was a large cross to carry.’ She laughs a little at the awfulness of her marriage. ‘He beat me. I think most people around us at the time would’ve known that – if they were asked. They knew the battering I got regularly. I drove him to it. Everyone said that. I was made to believe that I was to blame. Those in the queue at the butchers would whisper that I was too thin and wiggled my bum too much when I walked. They said that the doctor was a respectable, professional man who had a harlot for a wife. It sounds silly now. It hurt. It made me into what they said I was. Lumbered with the lies, I became what they despised – to spite them.’

  Ella doesn’t look at the host or the audience for validation, she refers to the notebook, breathes deeply and
resumes. She is still a fine woman. God! How fine she is.

  ‘We never talked about our feelings in those days. If you asked someone how they were doing, you didn’t really want to know how they were. There was no escape. No. I’m making excuses and going off the point. Maybe all of this is necessary. I want to explain my mind, how things were. I was intrigued by the way men responded to my looks. Even as a young girl, I knew that I had to let them leer because to complain was unpopular and silly. Them copping a feel was an endorsement. I was a success if men whistled or made lewd suggestions. It was a sign that I was valued. The attention was welcomed as it meant I was being accepted, loved and sometimes even adored. That’s what I wanted most in this world – slowly I realised that this attention wasn’t always a good thing. By then, it was too late. The damage was done. Even before my marriage, my reputation was sealed. I was what I was. There was no escape. My second pregnancy happened and no matter what has been said – the child was my husband’s. He raped me. He did it often. It wasn’t considered rape. It was in marriage, and that was what it was. He thought what he was doing was right and he made excuses for it. I know he didn’t see his behaviour as disgusting or controlling – but it was. I was hard to manage and I knew it. The whole village knew it. He was doing his best to do his duty. The baby came very early and didn’t breathe either. Just as before all was swept away from me. There was little I could say or do. The numbness is difficult to describe. The lack of understanding I had for what was happening to my own body was huge. My brain and heart were broken and sure nobody cared about that.’

  There’s a stinging sensation behind the corners of my eyes when I press on them. I can hear Ella talk more about the village and the normality of traditions and religion. She’s making a whole lot of sense. Bringing people into the places we lived. She’s giving them a flavour of the old ways that are gone now and not long forgotten. Ella was always well-spoken and now is no different. How I’ve missed and admired her. The host mentions a commercial break and I listen to the advertisements about butter, computers and cars.

  Then she’s back with me. Her on one chair, me on another. We’re nowhere close. Ella’s nodding that she’s ready to resume. I’m shaking.

  ‘I let myself down. There were many women who endured all of this and much worse. Those fine women didn’t let themselves or their families down. They didn’t expose their little infants to the rigours of scrutiny or their own lives to the courts. If only I was more placid, more accepting, more moral, more like most women. I’ve learned now to accept my life and I fought against all of it for a very long time.’

  ‘You brought this upon yourself? Is that what you are saying?’ the host asks without the camera leaving Ella’s eyes.

  ‘I was no angel. I told you that. And yes, most of this is probably my fault.’

  ‘You were tried in a court of law and found guilty.’

  ‘I was guilty.’

  43

  Charlie Quinn

  ‘I never spoke out at the time. I was in a terrible state. Even if I could have pieced together what had happened, I doubt anyone would have believed me and I doubt that it would have made things any better.’

  ‘Speaking the truth would have made things worse?’ the host asks Ella.

  ‘Much worse. People in my once doting family had turned against me. I was a criminal woman. Even if my brain had functioned, I doubt I would have been restored to the woman I should have been.’

  ‘The third baby. The trial. What do you remember of that?’

  ‘Not much. I was heavily medicated and in pain in here.’ Ella points to her head. ‘I never spoke up. I tried to explain how he treated me, how I knew who hurt my baby. Nonetheless, it was me who was found guilty.’

  Ella stops for a drink. It’s excruciating waiting for that sip. ‘In despair, I tried to hurt myself. That was it. I was unhinged, mentally unstable, a danger to myself and others. This was a sure sign of my guilt. The evidence of it laid out with the cuts I’d managed to do with something. All was sealed and delivered for justice.’

  ‘You’re saying you didn’t do what you were accused of? That you didn’t hurt your third child?’

  ‘It wasn’t me.’

  ‘Then who?’

  Ella shrugs.

  ‘You’re saying that it was your husband. The doctor?’

  ‘I’m saying it wasn’t me. The Sisters of Good Hope found me intriguing. One of them was doing studies on criminals, yes I know it is odd even now. There was one forward-thinking sister, and she asked for the notorious Ella O’Brien to be released into her care. Many of us female prisoners were. I think I might have disappointed her as time went on. I was not the criminal that people had made me into.’

  ‘You said yourself you were guilty? What did you mean?’

  ‘I was guilty of almost everything – but not the worst of it.’

  ‘What you were sentenced for is rather brutal, Ella?’

  Ella wrings her hands in her lap and she looks downwards. I reach out and touch her on the screen.

  ‘I know,’ she cries. ‘I know.’

  ‘Are you saying you weren’t responsible for your actions as you’d lost your mind? That you weren’t yourself at the time?’

  ‘No!’ she breathes heavily.

  ‘Are you saying someone else did all you are accused of?’

  Distressed now, her shoulders heave up and down in emotion. Mine mimic hers and she flops back a little into the chair. ‘I had lost all sense of reality long before the last baby was born. I was not mad, though, if that’s what you mean.’

  ‘What happened, Ella?’ His voice does sound concerned and also impatient. I want to punch him hard to stop him from hurting her. It feels like he is walking her into more danger. I want it to stop.

  ‘Starved of real affection I found a kindred spirit. There was a young boy who worked in the butcher’s.’ She stops and looks straight at me. My heart leaps. It’s as if she can see through the screen. ‘He was a fine-looking fella, broad and strong. He had no decency in him either. I teased him and he gave me flattering looks and compliments. I was struck by his confidence and the beauty of him.’

  ‘When was this?’ she is asked. This lets me take a breath. I am weak now and trembling.

  ‘I’ve no idea of the year. It was a long time before the baby and the trial. I wasn’t a good woman, I wasn’t a proper woman. I didn’t care if I was corrupting a young boy.’

  ‘Boy?’

  ‘He was seventeen. Eighteen at the most. I was a married woman and had at least five years on him. He didn’t seem that young to me, or to the butcher who employed him. The butcher always praised his abilities and gave him responsibilities. Like me, this boy tried to be accepted, to fit in. There was a counter between us and people watched our every move. So, for a long while, it was only my imagination that was silly and stupid. It was all safe then.’

  Ella holds up her hand to stop the questions and takes some water to drink. Although her voice is the same it lacks the youthful tones she once had. What did I expect her to sound like after all this time? I want her to talk on and I also want her to stop.

  ‘I encouraged him,’ Ella says. ‘I know it was wrong. As you made out I am not behind the door at manipulation and he had no experience. I was in need of his adoration. I didn’t have to do much to have him following me around and asking my whereabouts. It was all ridiculous at the time. Sometimes my husband and I teased each other about infatuations boys and girls had. In the beginning I thought that this boy’s interest might amuse him too – or make him jealous.’

  I blink into the truth of her voice. Did she just say that they’d laugh at me?

  ‘This young fella became fixated. There were jokes about it. Jeers when I went into the village. The butcher himself asked me to stop teasing the poor boy. I did stop and this didn’t help the situation. I added to the mess as I visited him at his lodgings to try to explain my predicament. He suspected that I had feelings for him. I suppose I en
joyed the attention. He was attractive to look at and very immature. Despite what people thought – I was not a woman who slept around. I tried to explain that I was not a suitable woman for him. That enflamed his passions even more.’

  ‘Didn’t you tell someone?’

  ‘Like who? And before you say my husband, I barely saw him and if I did he was trying to impregnate me. My family would have blamed me for flirting with the boy. His own mother was long gone and his religious father and nervous new stepmother did their best to discipline their unruly son. I suppose this young fellow was what you might call – a delinquent.’

  My mouth hangs open and the tears stream into it.

  44

  Charlie Quinn

  ‘This young fellow became my shadow. My family began to chaperone me most of the time. The rumours were piling up. It was not true what they said about my morals. I wanted to be a good wife and mother. In the finish that was the only job available to women. Being a conscientious, clever person, I wanted to succeed at those things. More than anything I needed to be the best at my role in life. A couple of times I tried to make my shadow understand this. He got frustrated and angry. I started to worry about what he would do.’

  There’s not a sound in the studio around Ella and not a sound in the hotel room next door. I’ve stopped crying and the toilet roll I’ve used to wipe the snot away is bunched at my feet. I stare at it. This is why I didn’t want to hear from Ella. Inside, I must have known she thought these things.

  ‘And what did he do to you?’ the host asks.

  Ella holds the nation’s attention and pauses for many seconds. ‘He seduced me and made me love him,’ she says.

  I look at my Ella. There she is, my darling Ella.

  ‘I fell in love with a totally unsuitable boy. It was scandalous. I knew it was. His landlady frequented a public house. If she wasn’t there, she was drunk, and then deaf and blind to what was happening in one of her rooms. I found love in those rare hours. Everything in me was screaming that it was wrong.’ Ella grabs her skirt in two old fists. The pleats scrunch and she lingers like that a while, reminiscing about our lovemaking. ‘He and I were seduced by each other. We were totally bowled over by the immorality, the danger and the thoughts of freedom.’