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Death in the Freezer
There were beautiful moments too—moments threaded with tenderness, laughter, and a joy so rare it felt almost sacred. Jack, the man I had fallen in love with, could still make me feel as if the world had narrowed to the warmth of his presence alone. His mischievous laugh, sometimes at someone else’s expense, was a treasure when it landed on me. To see him carefree was a rare gift, and I clung to it, cherishing each fleeting moment. I loved him more than my own life and tried to show it every day. The nicknames he gave me—“donkey,” sometimes “tulip,” or “goofey”—stuck like soft markers of intimacy. I laughed with him at my own missteps, at clumsy jokes that fell flat, and in those shared giggles, I found sanctuary. Even when shadows lurked behind his eyes, humor became our fragile shield.
I remember the first real conflict over Julian. I had shown him my Tarot cards, though only the pictures—I didn’t know how to explain their meanings.
“Alice complained that you showed Julian the Tarot cards,” Jack said a few days later.
“Yes, only the pictures. Nothing more,” I insisted.
A knot tightened in my stomach—how could sharing a small, innocent curiosity with a child be seen as a betrayal?
And yet, that trivial moment seemed to open a door. Soon after, Alice and her boyfriend Niall expressed a desire to visit. I braced myself for judgment, but quickly realized they were simply warm, curious people. Alice was kind and gentle, nothing like the stern portrait Jack had painted. Niall was easygoing, affable, and sincere. We spent the evening watching The Phantom of the Opera, drinking wine, and I made sandwiches, showing them how we entertained guests in the Czech Republic.
Later, Alice invited us to her home in Thomastown. I never mentioned the brief encounter we had years ago. We stayed overnight and were welcomed with warmth and laughter; she even took us to a pub for a disco, spinning and stomping to the music with her friends, her energy contagious. We never grew particularly close, but I was relieved and quietly grateful that she accepted me into her circle. I was surprised when Jack later admitted that Alice had once tried to kiss him during a rough patch with Niall and had even sent messages attempting to lure him back. I felt no jealousy—only a pang of sympathy, a fleeting ache for the path she had chosen and the heartache she carried.
Even as life outside my small world demanded patience and resilience, I found that the pressures of everyday work could feel just as exacting. Working at a children’s boutique with Irish girls became challenging. Jacinta projected her insecurities onto me. One day, just before closing, a customer left with a bag I had sold her, but I forgot to remove a security tag, setting off the alarm. Jacinta attacked me mercilessly. “Are you kidding me? Do you know what could happen if she complained that we made her a thief? The boss would send you home in a coffin!” she snapped.
I stayed quiet, knowing I wouldn’t win a fight. My previous experiences at Roosters had taught me well. Yet a cold unease settled in my chest that day, one I would not shake for months.
Before Christmas, the shop was busy, and I tried to put the incident with Jacinta behind me. I was soon assigned to handle the cash register. Every coin and note was counted and reported meticulously. I worked carefully, aware that any slip could be blown out of proportion.
One day, Lisa held us back, claiming the bosses needed to check the cameras because money had gone missing. Panic rose in me—I was supposed to travel to Jack’s family that evening for Christmas. The thought of missing the trip tightened my chest.
When Jack called, I explained the situation.
“Come home and don’t talk to them. They can’t keep you by force,” he said, anger and concern lacing his voice.
After an hour of tense waiting, I decided I could not stay any longer. I told the staff firmly, “I have to go. I didn’t take the money, I don’t know what happened, but I’m leaving.” Every step toward the door felt like a small rebellion, a reclaiming of my freedom.
When I got home, Jack was already there. As soon as I sank into the sofa, tears spilled down my face.
“Tell me what happened,” he said, sitting beside me.
“They think I stole money from the register. I was at the cash register… they’ll probably fire me!” I sobbed.
Jack grabbed his coat and ran out the door. “Don’t worry. I won’t let anyone make a thief out of you!” he shouted, his energy a shield against the injustice.
No accusation was ever made against me. Jack later confronted Jacinta, making it clear I would not return. Losing the job, in the end, felt trivial compared to the reassurance and protection he had given me. Still, a tiny knot of dread lingered in my stomach, a reminder of how quickly everyday pressures could spiral.
In the end, we made it on time. Despite the chaos of the morning, the tension at work, and the lingering worry from the register incident, Jack and I arrived at his family’s house just as the first guests were settling in.
We spent Christmas with twelve of them crammed into the small village house. Julian was absent, celebrating with his mother, which made the day feel both lively and intimate. Conversations flowed freely, punctuated by bursts of laughter, while Jack and I settled into the warmth quietly, savoring our place among them.
Dinner was boiled ham, Brussels sprouts, mashed potatoes, stewed carrots, and thick gravy. Jack’s father orchestrated everything, and the rest of us followed along, tasting and commenting. Being accepted into his family reinforced my sense that I had made the right choice in staying with him. Any lingering doubts melted away like steam over the boiling pot, though a subtle tension hummed beneath the cheer, unspoken yet palpable.
The next day, we exchanged gifts. I wrote small poems for each family member and gave Jack’s father my favorite book, Angela’s Ashes. He froze upon opening it, and I had to explain the plot. Later, Jack laughed.
“You gave Dad a book?”
“Yes. Didn’t he like it?”
“Oh, he liked it… kind of. I forgot to tell you—Dad can’t read.”
I was stunned. He had never learned, working in factories and fields, relying on his wife for reading and writing. Yet he was clever and resourceful, navigating life in ways I had only begun to appreciate. I liked him even more that day.
Later, Jack played a little on the piano. There was still so much I didn’t know about him—his past, his temper, his hidden tenderness. He was a good man, though prone to anger. I wanted to love him, support him, and help him out of his shadows. I had no idea what I had taken on.
I knew I had to find a new job. Jack rarely lifted a finger, and only occasionally did he have enough money for us to do a bit of shopping together. But the priorities of a twenty-year-old girl are very different from those of a woman seeking security and stability. I didn’t mind taking care of him. I felt that if he truly understood how much I loved him, he would eventually start treating me the way he should.
I found a job at Abrakebabra but hated it immediately. Exhausting night shifts, heat, fumes, and stress made it unbearable. Eventually, I got a different position with the same company, thanks to Jack, who had connections and arranged better electricity rates for the owner. My new role was easier to handle: I monitored cameras, tracked hours, and performed inventory checks at a second branch. Occasionally, I worked the counter during busy shifts with fifty hungry, drunken customers, juggling orders. Jack sometimes drove me home, saving me a long train ride.
One morning, while opening the Kilkenny bistro for inventory, I accidentally locked myself inside the massive freezer. A colleague wouldn’t arrive for another two hours. Harsh white light flooded the room, throwing the stacked boxes and stainless racks into sharp relief—bright, clinical, and somehow more menacing than darkness. The cold hit me like a physical blow: it bit my ears, stung my cheeks, and made my breath erupt in furious little clouds. For several minutes I froze; shock slowed time, and my limbs felt numb and unreal. My heart hammered so loudly I thought it would drown out reason. I truly believed those were my last moments on earth.
Then, a raw, primitive panic jolted me into action. I screamed until my throat burned, pounded the door until my knuckles ached, and kicked with a desperate fury, the only thing keeping me tethered to life. By chance—or fate—my foot struck a red rubber knob I hadn’t noticed: the manual release. The door clicked, and I spilled out into warmer, painfully ordinary air, shivering, laughing, and sobbing all at once. Relief washed over me, but the terror lingered, a cold echo that refused to leave. Later, I learned another colleague had once been trapped for fifteen minutes. The freezer was no longer just equipment—it was a quiet, waiting danger.
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