“You’re peeing again?”
“I can’t help it, Shan. I have a super sensitive bladder,” I called back. “I’ve been like this since forever. Ask Hugh. He’ll tell you. I used to wet the bed constantly when I was little.”
“Too much information, Claire,” Shannon laughed from the other side of the cubicle door. “Some things are best left unsaid.”
“No, God, no!” I wailed when I pulled down my underwear and was greeted by an unwelcome visitor. “Why do bad things happen to good people?” Balling my hand into a fist, I shook it at the ceiling above my head. “You are two days early, you wicked, wicked torturer!”
“Oh my God, who?” Shannon called back. “What’s wrong?”
“Mother nature!”
“What about her?”
“She’s here, dammit!”
“Do you want a tampon?”
“Ew, no, I don’t put things in my tree.”
“Tree?”
“Oops. Forgot I wasn’t talking to Gerard – hey, don’t tell him I’m on my period, okay? He faints at the sight of blood, and I swear if he even thinks about it too much, he gets queasy.”
“What a baby.”
“I know.” Reaching for my handbag, I quickly unzipped it and started to root inside. “I know I have a pad in here somewhere. I always take one with me, no matter what.”
“Really?” Shannon asked. “You take one everywhere?”
“Mm-hm. Everywhere,” I called back. “I never leave the house without one after what happened to you at school last year.”
“Oh God,” Shannon groaned. “Don’t remind me.”
“Found it!” Grinning victoriously, I quickly handled my business before rejoining Shannon at the sink. “Quick, check the back of my dress.”
“You’re all clear,” my bestie assured me, taking her time to inspect the back of my dress. “Close call.”
“Tell me about it.” Breathing a sigh of relief, I washed and dried my hands before inspecting my makeup. “Hey, Shan? You got any lipstick with you?”
“Sorry, I didn’t bring any makeup with me.”
“Hang on,” I mumbled more to myself than her, as I placed my bag on the sink and rummaged inside. “I think I have a lip-gloss in here.”
“What do you have in there?” Shannon teased. “The kitchen sink?”
“A lady should always be prepared for any scenario,” I joked, fingers landing on something light and papery. “Hm.”
“What’s that?”
“I don’t know,” I mused, withdrawing the folded-up piece of paper. “It was with Gerard’s stuff when I went to grab our tickets.”
“I bet it’s a cheat sheet for GTA,” Shannon snickered, watching over my shoulder as I unfolded the A4 sheet of paper. “Both Gibs and Johnny keep cracking up because they can’t clear the missions as fast as me.”
I knew she was talking to me. I could hear her voice. But I couldn’t make out a word she was saying because my attention was riveted to the words splashed across the page in my hand.
“Oh my God,” Shannon gasped, leaning in closer to get a better look. “Is that from … ”
“Caoimhe Young,” I strangled out, hands trembling violently, as my mind furiously fought to protect itself from the information my eyes were sending it.
“No,” Shannon cried out, covering her mouth with her hand. “Don’t read it, Claire.”
Too late.
It is to my deepest shame that I write this letter.
Words can’t express how sorry I am for the pain that my lack of belief has caused you.
I let you down, I understand that now, and if I could go back in time to that night, I promise I would take you at your word. I would protect you from him.
I have no way of making this better for you, or redeeming myself in essence because the bottom line comes down to the fact that I was supposed to protect you and didn’t.
My biggest fear of all is that you won’t believe me when I say I didn’t know. I guess that’s a hypocritical statement to make when I did the very same to you.
You told me and I didn’t listen. You were a young child who trusted his favorite babysitter enough to disclose the horrendous abuse you had been enduring at the hands of your stepbrother, and that babysitter chose to let her teenage hormones blind her.
To say that I had rose-tinted glasses on when it comes to Mark is an excuse that I won’t give you. Not you, sweet boy.
The fact of the matter is that I didn’t want to hear it. I didn’t want to see what was happening. I had this incredible blind spot that I couldn’t see out of when it came to him.
But I saw tonight.
When I walked into your bedroom to check on you and found him pinning you to your mattress, raping you, I think I died inside. Your eyes. You looked so broken. So defeated. You weren’t making a sound. Your tears were as silent as my voice, and I am so sorry for that.
I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with myself for allowing you to suffer like you have. I honestly don’t think I can.
I’ve written you this letter, and I want you to take it to your mam. If not your mam then take it to Sinead Biggs across the street. All you have to do is hand over this letter, sweet boy, and I promise you he’ll get what he deserves.
(For all who read this letter, let it be known that I, Caoimhe Young, on the night of April 5th, 2000, witnessed my boyfriend, Mark Allen, raping his eleven-year-old stepbrother, Gerard Gibson, while I was supposed to be babysitting him. Let it also be known that eighteen months before witnessing this rape, Gerard Gibson disclosed to me that he didn’t feel safe around Mark, and that he touched him inappropriately. And finally, to my deepest regret, let it be known that I, Caoimhe Young, believed my boyfriend’s word over that of an innocent child.)
For my part in your pain, for my silence, I can never say sorry enough. I can only hope that my absence gives you some comfort, because while I know I wasn’t your abuser, my lack of willingness to believe your truth hurt you in ways he never could.
Goodbye, sweet boy.
Caoimhe x
