Do or Die Read online

  One day I decided that I’d visit mam on my day off. It was a beautiful May day. We had planned a shopping trip and we were looking forward to it. Robyn and I were waiting for the bus right outside the block of flats on Balbutcher Lane in Ballymun. Robyn was a very cute and pretty kid, and we were looking well, decked out in our finery. We waited and waited but there was no sign of a bus. We were standing there for over an hour and I was getting agitated. It was then that I saw a red pick-up van indicate and pull in to the kerb in front of us. I had no idea who the driver was but I could tell that it was a man. He was wearing enormous sunglasses that hid his face. He rolled down the window and leaned forward so that I could see better. Then I realised who he was. It was Brian Kenny.

  ‘Are you going to your mam’s?’ he asked.

  ‘Eh, yeah,’ I answered back, slightly embarrassed.

  ‘Hop in! I’ll give you a lift, I’m going to my gran’s,’ he offered.

  I was glad to get the lift. We were both getting tired and it was becoming very hot. When we got into the van, Brian was really friendly and polite, much more than I had expected. He played and joked with Robyn as we drove to Finglas, and she really took a shine to him. When we eventually got to mam’s, he reached over to the glove compartment and took out a notepad and pen. He scribbled down his phone number and handed it to me.

  ‘Give me a ring if you fancy going for a drink sometime,’ he said.

  I remember my face going bright red, and how I jumped out of the van as quick as I could. We waved him off and I glanced down at the piece of paper in my hand with his phone number on it. I shoved it deep down into the pocket of my jeans. I decided that I was going to take him up on his offer. Now I wonder, why didn’t that bus cornel It would have saved me years of hell! I didn’t know it then, but I was about to make one of the worst decisions of my life by meeting Brian Kenny for a drink.

  Over the coming months we started to go out and we were getting on really well. The relationship was becoming very serious. We did all the normal things couples in a new relationship do: go out for dinner, meet friends for drinks in town and occasionally we went clubbing. I was thirty years old when I met Brian. At that time, he had told me that he was the same age as I was. He had even produced a thirtieth birthday card that he said he had received from his sister, and I had believed him. I later found out from his mam that he was in fact four years younger than me. I was shocked. We argued about him lying, but the relationship carried on regardless. The age gap would have been a problem had I been younger, but it wasn’t so much then as I was heading into my thirties.

  Brian would stay over a few nights a week until it got to the point that he was a permanent fixture at my flat. Before I knew it, we were talking about buying a house together and we had started to save. We would pool our money and it was lodged into Brian’s bank account. I never thought at the time that this would turn out to be a bad idea. I trusted Brian back then and I thought that things would work out for us. Had I known what was in store for me, I never would have taken the risk of parting with my money and letting him take care of things. When I think back, I realise how stupid I really was. I was just excited to be setting up home with Brian and my daughter. The thought of buying a house together was a big step and a commitment, which, at the time, I really wanted to make. It had just been Robyn and me for so long and being a single parent was difficult. At the time I was pleased that we would become a family and I would have support with bringing up Robyn. You think that you know someone, but really you don’t.

  Brian was really excited about looking for a house. We went to see a bank official about getting a mortgage. As Brian was self-employed as a milkman with Premier Dairies, we also went to see an accountant so that we could give the bank details of Brian’s income. We hoped that with the accountant’s report and my P60, the bank would consider our application. We were eventually approved for the loan and we began searching for a place.

  We viewed a couple of houses before we went to see the cottage. Mitchelstown Cottage stood on a third of an acre on the outskirts of Finglas. It was close to the Meath border. Brian was interested from what he could see from the newspaper clipping that his mam had from one of the local Northside papers.

  It was a dark and cold November evening when we went to view the cottage in Kilshane. We travelled along a dark winding road that was lined with trees and badly lit. It was eerie, but in some ways it was quite beautiful. We arrived at the cottage and pulled into a small pebblestone drive, which you could hear crunch as the wheels of the van rolled over it. Very large conifer trees surrounded the house. From what I could see in the dark, the garden looked well maintained and beautiful. I felt though that the house was very isolated, and I wasn’t sure that I would be very comfortable with that. I was used to and enjoyed having people around me. I knew that if we bought this cottage that I would not have people close by.

  I was very disappointed when we went inside. It was dirty and old and it stank. I said nothing. I continued on through the house in the hope that it would get better, but it didn’t. The rooms were very small. The bathroom was decorated in pink. The wooden windows had rotted away through neglect. The living area stank of urine, and we later discovered that it was used by the previous owner to house dogs. It was awful. I knew it would be a lot to take on. I glanced at Brian occasionally in disgust, but he remained attentive to what the estate agent was saying. Brian was really keen, but I wanted to see other houses before we made an offer.

  Brian could see potential in the property. I on the other hand thought that it would be another huge financial drain on us. We would have to find more money to repair and upgrade the cottage. I was worried that we would over-stretch ourselves and that the house would eat up any money we had. Brian had also said that his mam thought that the property would be a very good investment for the future.

  After a few days and a few disagreements, we made an offer that was accepted. We moved into the house within a month, bringing all my furniture and belongings with us. Brian’s father, William, or Billy, as we called him, who was a carpenter, promised to help us renovate the place. It was a promise that he kept.

  We were happy there for a time — until I started to see a different side of Brian. He had previously had a violent argument with a neighbour of mine over money, before we moved into the cottage. That should have been enough to set alarm bells ringing. The guy was working for Brian delivering milk on Brian’s round. Brian had extended the milk round to the block of flats that I lived in. It would bring in more money that we needed for our deposit on the house, and we were under pressure now to reach our target. However, this only went on for a few weeks. It was obvious that the row erupted because of money. It seems that Brian had pulled a fast one on this guy, and had ripped him off in some way by either not paying him a wage or by not sticking to the agreed split of profits at the end of their contract. At the time I believed Brian. He had not given me any reason to doubt him. I also knew that the other guy had a bit of a reputation. How wrong was I? The truth came to light at a later stage. The row was so ferocious that the gardaí were involved. The guy had put my kitchen window through and damaged my front door when he battered it with a baseball bat trying to get to Brian. I was terrified. Brian had punched the guy in the face, which led to him coming to my flat, furious and hell bent on equalling the score. He was like a wild animal trying to get in at Brian.

  That week, mid-November 1996, the bank released the mortgage. The owner agreed to let us move into the house earlier than planned. I was delighted, as I was now fearful of even going to the corner shop, because of the fight. Gossip about the row between Brian and this guy had filtered through the block of flats that I lived in, and the feedback that I was receiving was not good. These were not people that you messed with, but who could blame that guy for being angry? I had never had any trouble with the other residents there before. Now I was receiving unwanted and very negative attention. I recall some of the women that lived in the fla
t complex shouting out the windows at me as I returned from work. They verbally threatened me and told me what they were going to do to me when they got their hands on me. One of the women was this guy’s partner, and the other one was her best friend. In all the time that I had lived there with Robyn I had never had a run-in with anyone. I had always kept my head down and minded my own business. Brian had brought this negative attention on me. When we moved to the cottage I was relieved to get away from the stressful situation in the flats. Little did I know that the stress was going to get worse, much worse.

  Brian’s parents and siblings came and helped us pack all of our belongings. Brian’s friend Peter Kiernan also helped. Peter had a van that we used to transport the furniture to the cottage. When everything was packed away, I felt a sadness closing the door of the flat. I had enjoyed the times that Robyn and I had had there. I hoped that I was not making a mistake. If I was, it was too late to turn back.

  During the first few weeks after moving into the house we were happy. So was Robyn. Our relationship in the beginning seemed relatively normal. We seemed to be doing all of the things that any other couple does. We shared some of the chores and we decorated the house together. We also shared the costs of groceries and household bills. Money was tight, but we got by. I thought that we had things under control. Even if it meant that we had sausage, beans and chips for dinner, we didn’t complain. Robyn was really taking a shine to Brian, and they seemed to be getting closer. He was good to her. It made me feel better knowing that we could all get along, and that she was happy.

  The first winter was hard. The house was cold, we were still decorating and it was tiring. But it was lovely to be out in the countryside and to do things that we hadn’t been able to do in the flats. Robyn and I enjoyed our walks in the surrounding fields, and we’d go out blackberry picking. We would also feed carrots to the family of donkeys that we had discovered living at the bottom of Bay Lane. I have happy memories of those times with Robyn.

  Brian’s father, Billy, came nearly every morning to build the kitchen units and wardrobes, and we would sit chatting for hours, drinking tea. He was a jovial type of man and was down to earth. Brian’s mam and his two sisters would also help out with the house by filling the window boxes with fresh flowers and tending some of the plants. I got on well with them in the beginning and appreciated the effort they made helping to turn the cottage into a home for us.

  The house was really taking shape. That year passed very quickly — it seemed like no time before we were celebrating our one-year anniversary there. My mam babysat and we went for a drink in Dolly Heffernan’s. Although our budget was tight, we could allow ourselves one night out. Brian was still working as a milkman in Premier Dairies and I was still working in the Esso garage. I had returned to work there sometime in 1994 and was working part-time while Robyn was at school. I loved my job and I loved my life — though that was going to change. Brian would make sure of that.

  Brian continually had a string of different people turning up at the house. I had never met them before and I was wary of them. All of a sudden there seemed to be an obvious distraction that was pulling Brian’s attention away from me. Brian was very taken with his new-found friends and their get-rich-quick schemes. I knew that we had to keep the mortgage under control, but I felt Brian was trying too hard to make more money. He resorted to collecting pallets from nearby industrial estates. He had them piled high in the front garden. They looked terrible at the front of the house. He would receive IR£3-5 per pallet at the end of each week. One of the men that Brian had brought to the house had introduced him to this way of making money.

  Brian became obsessed with money and didn’t speak of much else. I was beginning to grow a little concerned about him. He was driving himself to the point of exhaustion. He was never happy with what he had. I often wondered where he got his strength from. He was always on the go. There was always something that he had to do. He was so active and busy that he seemed to be constantly hyper.

  Brian and his colleague, John [not his real name], continued their pallet collection for some months. John was always at the house; he seemed a nice kind of guy, quite pleasant.

  Christmas had passed. We had spent it with Brian’s parents and had also visited my family. Life just seemed normal to me then and I was happy. It was early into the New Year, and I was not feeling well. I was tired and I had been vomiting. I went to see the doctor, and she told me that there was a possibility that I was pregnant. I was shocked, especially as I had been taking the pill. We had not planned a pregnancy. When I left the surgery, I was still in shock and decided to buy a pregnancy test. The test came up positive. I did not tell Brian that day, as I didn’t know how he would react. Money was tight and a baby would make it tighter. I was still trying to get my head around the idea of having a baby.

  I decided to break the news to Brian, and worried a little about what his reaction might be. Although he had expressed his desire for a child on a couple of occasions, I was still a little apprehensive about telling him. Even though we had discussed having children, everything about this relationship was moving too fast: living together, buying the house and now a baby.

  It was my day off work and I plodded around cleaning the house. Billy had turned up at the house that morning to do some work. Billy, who was in his mid-fifties, always seemed to like keeping himself busy. I had not been expecting him. I made some coffee and we sat chatting for a while in the kitchen. Billy was a witty man and I enjoyed his company most days. I was glad to see a familiar face stop by, even to say hello, especially as I was quite isolated and away from all my friends and my own family. I had been used to people calling over to see me when I lived in the flats. Billy went outside and removed some tools from the boot of the car. He had decided to get started on building and fitting our new bedroom wardrobes. I was delighted as all our clothes were still in bags or strewn around the bedroom, the dirty mixed with the clean, most of them Brian’s. I hated untidiness; sometimes it would drive me to the point of nearly picking them all up and binning them. I couldn’t wait to have wardrobes to hang everything up in and to get the bedroom organised and tidy.

  It was nearly noon and Brian was due home from work. Billy had been in the cottage since around ten o’clock, sawing and hammering away. I decided to cook some breakfast, and hoped to have it ready before Brian got home. I took some sausages, bacon and eggs from the fridge and went to the cooker to get started. Just then I could hear the crunching of the pebble-stones as Brian’s pick-up came onto the driveway. Brian slid open the patio door and walked into the kitchen.

  ‘Jesus, what’s this? You’re cooking breakfast? What are you looking for?’ he said jokingly, as he marched past me and headed into the bedroom to see what Billy was up to. He must have been freezing, as I could feel the cold from him as he passed by me. I continued making breakfast and eavesdropped on their conversation until they joined me in the kitchen. We discussed which way we were going to lay out the bedroom. It was a tight squeeze putting wardrobes in there, as the room only measured eight feet by ten. As we talked, I lifted the cooked sausages and bacon and put them onto three plates. I cracked some eggs into the pan. I don’t like eggs very much, and I was beginning to feel slightly quesy at the sight and smell of them as they cooked in the pan, I buttered some bread and made a fresh pot of tea and we all sat down to breakfast. I munched through a bacon sandwich as the others tucked into theirs. Brian had an enormous appetite and was a fast eater. We had no sooner sat down to the meal than I noticed that Brian’s plate was nearly cleared. He was wiping his plate with some bread and clearing up the runny yoke that remained on the plate. My stomach heaved as I watched him and I ran to the bathroom to vomit.

  ‘Uh, thanks Rita,’ said Brian, as he came into the bathroom, following me in to see if I was OK. I was crouched over the basin. I thought that the vomiting would never stop. Brian stood above me and put his hand on my back, as if to give me reassurance that I would be all right.
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  ‘For what’? I asked, knowing too well what he meant.

  ‘For letting me finish breakfast before you decided to do that.’ he laughed.

  ‘Very funny’ I said, as I laughed along with him.

  ‘She hasn’t given us food poisoning has she, Brian?’ Billy shouted, from the kitchen. I knew he was only joking, but I was too ill to respond.

  I stood up and went back to take my seat at the table. Brian fetched me a glass of water. Billy looked at me with concern.

  ‘How you feeling now? You must have eaten something that upset you Rita?’ Brian added.

  Placing my head between my knees and taking deep breaths, I thought to myself, if only they knew. I knew what was making me sick.

  ‘She’s had the same as we’ve had, and we’re both fine. Must be morning sickness!’ Billy said, laughing — not realising he was right.

  ‘Fuck off, you!’ Brian laughed at his dad’s joke, but then quickly turned his attention back to me. I just gazed back at him and bit my lip.

  ‘Are you? Rita, are you pregnant?’ he asked, as if he really wanted the answer to be yes.

  ‘I didn’t want to tell you this way, Brian, but, yes, I am. I only found out yesterday. I was trying to pick the right moment to tell you, but you were so tired last night that I just let you go to bed,’ I explained, and watched Brian’s face beam with delight at hearing the news.

  Brian and I were really excited about having a baby. That week we informed the rest of our families and everyone was delighted with the news and wished us well. I think that Ann, Brian’s mam, was over the moon, as it would be her first grandchild (Brian was her firstborn).

  On Thursdays and Fridays I would help Brian out with the milk bill collections. Sometimes Robyn would come along for the ride. We had fun driving in the open-back red pick-up, but it stank of sour milk. The smell could be so bad sometimes that you would still smell it on your clothes the next day — if you were brave enough to put them back on. I could even smell them in the wash basket before I put them in the washing machine. There would be all three of us in the front and about six young lads in the back, messing and joking and screaming obscenities at Brian to wind him up. It was all innocent fun. We would be so tked when we got home, and some of the young lads would be whinging that their feet hurt or were cut, or one poor little fella would be sulking after taking some flack and teasing from his work-mates. But they would all still turn out the following week for the same torture. I suppose it is part of the norm for working-class kids in Dublin.