Nicola Hanney recounts the traumatic years she spent suffering abuse at the hands of disgraced Garda Paul Moody, all the while battling recurring cancer and caring for her young son…
When he opened the door back into his home that night, Paul kissed my head and we went inside, and as we did it was like he wiped his card clean. He made dinner and poured himself a glass of wine and ran a bath for me, checking a few times to see if I had got in. I remember staying in the bath for so long that night, wishing I could disappear with the water down the plug hole. But then I heard Jack crying downstairs, and I picked up all the pieces of myself that I could find, scattered around, including the smile for my face, and I glued them back together and went down to him. The look the baby gave me was one of pure relief, seeing his mam come to comfort him, and it made me realise I could never give in. I would work this out. I would figure out a way to get my son safe, and myself healthy and well and away from Paul.
There were two Nicolas: the one you could see on the outside, the woman smiling while she battled cancer, supported by her loving family and partner, and the real one, inside, who was trapped and could not speak. But that Nicola was busy too, she was biding her time, working out her plans and hoping for a miracle. In the meantime, Paul took me to restaurants and out for walks, he chatted in the garden with the neighbours as he washed the car. He talked about the future as if it were set in stone, he texted me cutely, stuck on a movie he thought I would love and brought me home flowers. When he said I love you, I said it back. I was facing down the Devil, waiting for a path out of Hell. And if things didn’t go his way, hellfire would explode. It was almost like I would let my guard down a tiny, tiny bit, let him smell the vulnerability, and BOOM. It was all or nothing with Paul.
I was so caught. But I couldn’t say anything. I knew my family would spring into action if they knew this, my brothers would fight him and I couldn’t let that happen. Paul used to talk about that, how much time men got for hitting coppers. ‘Ten years,’ he would say, ‘automatically.’ ‘You won’t get away with this, Paul,’ I said to him. I had no idea of the type of power Paul had, but it felt like he had all the power.
In the bedroom one night, I called the number for Women’s Aid and told them in whispers what was going on. ‘I need help,’ I said, ‘I need real help. Please.’ ‘Nicola, stay calm, someone will call you back on this number.’ I was so relieved to hear that. I needed someone to help me who wasn’t afraid of Paul or who couldn’t be hurt by him. I stayed upstairs, holding onto my phone, my lifeline, waiting for the call from Women’s Aid. It never came. I felt the skin on my neck go hot, and the feeling crawled up into my cheeks. My legs felt weak. It was the effect of the chemotherapy. I went to the bathroom and splashed cold water on my face. I was going to throw up, so I slid down onto my knees and waited. My medication was in the fridge. It would settle my stomach and relieve my pain, and so I went downstairs and took some, but realised as soon as I did that it was nothing but water. I picked up the packet of small bottles, holding onto the counter, and inspected them to see the diff rence in colour. But there was no diff erence. They all had water in them. ‘Paul?’ I called in to where he was sitting on the couch with his feet up. Jack was playing on the floor. I made my voice light-hearted and amused, ‘Did you do something with my medication?’ ‘Which one?’ he said and sat up. ‘These,’ I held up the bag. He stared at me and then he shrugged the way a clown would, with a big downward mouth and raised eyebrows.
Photo by Liosa McNamara
As if in a trance, I left the room, went upstairs and began to pack my bags. I realised that he must have done this when I left the previous week, in his tantrum, just like the time he had destroyed my apartment. Paul followed me up. ‘Oh here we fucking go,’ he said, ‘and she starts.’ He looked around, his eyes traced the entire room. He opened and closed the wardrobe door. ‘Did you do that?’ He pointed. I looked and saw a tiny chip in the mirror on the wardrobe. ‘Did you fucking break my wardrobe, Nicola?’ I shook my head. ‘How dare you damage my property?’ he said and pushed me, so I sat down. I stood back up straight away and tried to leave the room, but he swatted at me and I fell back onto the bed. I was so weak, stones underweight and really sick. He caught me by the shoulders and pushed me down. My face was in the duvet, I turned it to the side and breathed in gasps. ‘Paul, don’t, I’m not well,’ I said. He straddled me, and his hands pincered my throat, so his fingertips pressed into my oesophagus and he started to choke me. I tried to beg. Everything went black. I tried to kick and turn. I started to lose everything I had ever prayed for. The darkness came in around the sides. I was swallowed by it. Then air fl ooded into my lungs in a whoop; his hands were off me.
He sat back on his heels. ‘You’re fucking riddled,’ he said, ‘cancer is eating you, you’re a fucking goner.’ He spoke my fears into the room. ‘I’m going to bury you and that child won’t even know your fucking name Hanney, do you hear me?’ he grunted as he held me down, ‘do you hear that Hanney? He won’t even know your fucking name.’ I sobbed. ‘You leave me again and you can die in that apartment, do what you like, but you mark my words, your family won’t see Jack again.’ His own weight unbalanced him and he suddenly fell forward.
There was a loud snap, and I was jolted under his chest as the bed gave way and broke. He slid further forward, slimy with sweat and I think he felt humiliated. Here he was, the powerful Paul, killing a weak, sick woman and physics got in the way. He clambered out of the bed, the mattress was on the floor with the frame still standing, cracked, and he bent over to look. ‘Okay, so you hoover under the bed,’ he pulled his hoody on and spoke really civilly, ‘and I’m going to get yer man from the village up here to fix that crack. You better hope he can fix it ’cause that fucking bed cost me a grand.’ He left the room. I could hear him moving around getting his coat on, he was humming a tune. I went into the bathroom and looked in the mirror, but my eyes were swimming with tears and I couldn’t see. I felt my teeth with my tongue and rinsed my mouth with warm water.
Sonia rang my phone by chance and I answered it in the heat of my panic, sobbing down the phone telling her what was happening in real time. It was the first she knew of it. ‘Nicola,’ her voice was calm and collected, ‘get out of that house.’ ‘I’m too scared he will kill me if I go,’ I said. ‘He is going to kill you if you stay,’ she warned me, and her voice got strong and authoritative, ‘you get yourself out of that house now.’ I hesitated. She shouted, ‘Please, Nicola, run, RUN!’ It was the word run that sparked me into action and I pulled on clothes and took the stairs down two at a time to the baby, who was playing on the floor. I grabbed him up into my arms and looked around for his shoes but couldn’t find them.
Nicola with her son
I stepped out over the threshold. ‘Run, Nicola, please, please,’ Sonia shouted, ‘and stay on the phone!’ ‘I can’t,’ I said as I began to move, ‘I’ve to carry Jack.’ I ran up across a green and onto the back road and kept running, my lungs aching and my son screaming, and I didn’t stop. I ran all the way down the back road to Celbridge. I wanted a taxi. Paul started ringing, clearly home and realising we were gone. Jack was slipping through my arms and I hung on to him with everything I had, but that wasn’t a lot against the weight of a baby. I heard a car coming and it passed. It wasn’t Paul, but I knew it would be soon. The road ahead was so long and had a wall on either side.
I crossed the road so I could see better. I knew where I was headed – the police station. Hearing another car coming, I summoned my very last strength and ran for it. The police station was closed. There was a sign on the door saying to contact the police in Maynooth and a number. Jack slipped out of my arms onto his feet and I held him there by the hands, standing on the steps of the station, while I caught my breath. His feet were bare on the cold stone, so I picked him back up again. I ran back down towards the village heading for the steeple of a church I could see over the rooftops. I crossed the road, hooshing Jack up in my worn-out grasp, and as I did I looked back up the road and saw Paul in his car. And he saw me.
The church was empty, with cold tiled floors and soft pine pews set in lines. It smelled like all churches do, that faint smell of incense and wax. A woman had her head bent in prayer at the front of the church. Jack was crying, so I hushed him and kissed him and tried to make him warm in my arms by stretching my top around his little body too. I sat into a pew at the back, facing the side aisle and cuddled him. ‘You’re okay,’ I told Jack, but he wouldn’t stop crying. I couldn’t blame him; he was cold and scared and upset. He could sense my adrenalin as I tried to comfort him, and his response was to cry louder. He needed warmth and he needed a bottle. The woman looked back with a flash of impatience. I bowed my head and said to God, ‘Please help me,’ and left the church.
Paul was parked outside. Just sitting there in the car when I came out. There were people around and I knew he wouldn’t drag me into the car in front of them. I walked by him and kept walking, and then his car drew alongside, window down. ‘Right, Nicola,’ he said, ‘get in the car. I’m not going to do that again.’ ‘No,’ I said. ‘Get in,’ he said, ‘stop making a scene.’ ‘No.’ ‘Nicola, look at my neck,’ he said, ‘you done that too.’ I looked at him. There was a faint scratch. ‘Do you want me to make a police report?’ he said. ‘I’ll be going for custody of Jack either way if you leave. You haven’t long left, Nic, do you really want to spend it in court?’
He changed tack. ‘Look, we both are stressed with this constant cancer business,’ he said, ‘get in the car, let’s get the baby warm. I mean what would Tusla say if they saw you out with him with no shoes?’ What was the point? I knew what was going to happen anyway. Paul would win. Paul always won. Paul always knew the corners to back me into. I could run and run and run, but there was nowhere to run to. Paul would be standing in every path.
Stronger by Nicola Hanney (Merrion Press) is out now.