‘Wonder what’s going on in there,’ she says to Leo as he passes her desk. He just shrugs his shoulder, takes another sip of his plastic cup of tea and then strolls on by.
Helen doesn’t much care for Leo. The little prick has only been here for less than six months and already has the audacity to treat her as if she’s insignificant. The only saving grace he has, as far as Helen can see, is that he looks mighty fine in uniform — as if it was bespokenly stitched around his muscular frame.
Helen looks around herself, to see if anyone else in the station noticed Leo’s abruptness with her. Nobody. So she tucks her chin back into her chest and begins to fold another sheet of paper, mumbling to herself as she does so.
When she finally hears Eddie’s office door open, she swings around in her chair so quickly that her eyes have to take a moment to focus before she can make out the individual faces. She eyeballs Cyril. Nothing. Patricia. Nothing. June. Nothing. She doesn’t bother to look at Neil as he makes his way towards his messy desk. That gobshite doesn’t share any information with her anyway. Never has. She chews on the nail of her thumb, wondering who she can infiltrate the quickest. Cyril’s already talking to Leo. He must be filling the uniform in. So Helen stands up, flattens down the creases on the front of her grey trousers and then casually walks towards the two men. She always walks as if she’s on stilts, does Helen; her entire five foot eleven inch frame as stiff and as straight as it can possibly be. She damaged the herniated disc in her lower back as a teenager; has been walking like a robot ever since.
Cyril is talking in hushed tones as Helen approaches but she hears mention of the name Alan Keating and already knows the matter is serious. Keating’s been running the streets of Dublin for years. The cops can do fuck all about it, though. The clever bastard keeps his nose way too clean.
‘What about Keating?’ she says, leaning her face over Leo’s shoulder to stare at Cyril.
Cyril looks left and then right before answering.
‘He’s up to something. We’ve just had an anonymous call that’s trying to put us off the scent.’
‘Content of the call?’ Helen asks, tipping her chin up and then down, as if she’s ordering Cyril to fill her in.
Cyril looks left, then right again. But even when his head has stopped moving, he doesn’t answer. He just sucks on his teeth.
‘Some kid saying two girls have agreed to commit suicide tonight. They’ve made a pact,’ Leo says turning around.
Helen watches as Cyril stares at Leo, his eyes widening, his teeth clenching.
‘Jaysus, it’s alright, Cyril,’ she says, tutting. ‘It was twenty-two years ago. You think I can’t ever hear that word the rest of my life?’
Then she spins on her heels, paces as quickly as she can and then snatches at the handle to Eddie’s office door.
He looks up when she enters, his forefinger and thumb immediately stretching to the bridge of his nose.
‘What makes you think it’s Keating?’ Helen says.
Eddie sighs.
‘Jesus, Hel, you never did lose any of your Detective skills huh? You can get information out of anyone in seconds. They’ve only just left my bloody office.’
Helen takes one step back, pushes the door closed, then strides forward, leaning her fingertips on to the edge of Eddie’s desk.
Eddie arches an eyebrow, then leans back in his chair.
‘It’s one of Keating’s hoax phone calls to get us chasing red herrings. I’ve just been on to Terenure Garda station, they’ve had the same phone call made to them. We’ve looked into it; it’s Keating alright. He wants our officers concentrating on something else tonight. Wants us distracted. You know how he operates.’
Helen takes one of her hands from the desk and swipes at her nose.
‘What did the phone call say?’
Eddie holds his eyes shut and then sighs out of his nostrils. He uses the same tics every time Helen sticks her nose into something that shouldn’t concern her at work. He uses the same tics the odd time at home too… when she infuriates him by talking while he’s trying to watch television.
‘Helen, c’mon… you know you’re not supposed to be privy to investigative insight—’
‘What did the call say?’ Helen interrupts.
Eddie peers through the blinds, into the open station at his officers and Detectives beavering away, then turns back to his wife.
‘It’s… it’s an awkward one for me to say to you,’ he says, sighing deeply out of his nostrils again. ‘Some young guy, maybe a boy, rang in to say two girls have made a pact to die by suicide tonight.’ Eddie swallows. ‘I’m sorry, Hel.’
‘Whatcha sorry for?’
Eddie looks down at his lap. He doesn’t answer. He can’t answer.
‘Anyway,’ he says, ‘I must get on with this investigation. I’ve got to organise some uniforms to call out to Keating’s house. We need to get a whiff of what’s going on. So if you don’t mind…’ Eddie points his whole hand towards his office door.
Helen looks back at it, then towards her husband again.
‘What about the two girls?’ she asks. ‘I assume somebody is looking into that?’
‘Helen, if you don’t mind… I’ll be running this investigation. We have every reason to believe this is a Keating distraction call. I’ve got information I just can’t share with you. You already know much more than you are supposed to. Anyway…’ Eddie says twisting his left wrist towards his face, ‘it’s almost half seven, you should be heading home now. Relaxing. Forgetting about work.’
Helen squints at Eddie as her breaths begin to grow in sharpness. Then she spins on her heels, snatches at the door handle and marches out of his office.
‘Who’s been put in charge of looking into the girls?’ she says as she approaches Cyril, interrupting him as he was about to instruct two members of his team.
‘What girls?’ he asks. Cyril often feels uneasy around Helen; especially when she’s trying to extract information out of him about work. The lines between them have always been blurred. She used to be his boss. Now he’s many ranks above her.
‘The girls who are planning to die by suicide.’
Cyril stares over his shoulder, towards Eddie’s office, and when he realises he’s not going to get any support, he holds his palm to Helen’s shoulder.
‘We don’t believe anybody is going to commit suicide. It’s a hoax call; Keating trying to distract us.’
Helen brushes Cyril’s hand away from her shoulder.
‘So nobody is looking into the girls, nobody’s going to at least investigate that angle?’
Cyril re-shuffles his standing position, so he is face on with Helen.
‘Helen, there are no girls, it’s just a—’
‘A hoax fucking phone call,’ Helen says slowly into his face. Then she storms off to her front desk, grabbing at the top sheet of paper from her pile, folding it into thirds and then stuffing it into an envelope.
She looks at the digits on her phone. 19:27. Coronation Street will be starting in three minutes. She hates missing Coronation Street. But she ain’t leaving yet. Not until Eddie delivers the team briefing.
‘Okay, okay,’ Eddie shouts out as he claps his hands twice.
Helen spins in her chair and watches as everybody in the station stands to attention; the ritual they normally go through when the Superintendent shouts and claps. There was a time Helen used to stand for briefings too.
‘We’ve had a phone call saying two unnamed girls are planning to die by suicide in the local area tonight. Terenure have had the exact same call. We have it on good authority these were hoax calls, the type of call Alan Keating has used in the past as a red herring. Patricia… I want your team to tail Keating’s closest confidants, find out where they are this evening and keep your nose up their asses. Cyril, ring around our grasses, find out anything you can — and keep me informed of your progress. June, can you rally some uniforms in the city and put them on red alert? I’ll fill y
ou in later on what they should be looking out for. Neil, as I mentioned to you in our meeting, I want to see your patterns on Keating again, can you give me all the paperwork you have and—’
‘What about the girls?’ Helen shouts over everybody’s head.
All in front of her twist their necks to stare at her. She has her legs spread, is swivelling side to side slowly in her chair.
Eddie holds his eyes closed in irritation, then sighs out of his nostrils. Again.
‘Hel, thank you for your input but I can assure you all is under control.’
Helen hisses a tiny laugh through the gaps in her teeth.
‘I’m sure they are, Eddie. I’m sure you all believe this is a hoax call and that Keating is up to something — and if that’s the case, no better station in the country to have that investigation under control.’ Helen holds both of her hands up, her palms facing the team of people staring at her. ‘But just in case — just in case — the call isn’t a hoax, who is out there looking for these two girls?’
Murmurs ripple from the team. She knows what they’re whispering about. She’s aware that they’ll all be thinking this subject is far too sensitive for her to handle.
‘Hel, I’ve been assured by Terenure Garda station that they have somebody treating the phone call as legitimate and will be looking into that line of enquiry.’ Eddie claps his hands again. ‘Now, if everybody else can—’
‘Who?’ Helen shouts, interrupting her husband again.
Eddie holds his hands together, as if in prayer, then creases his face into a sterile smile.
‘I eh…’ he, says, ‘I don’t know who exactly, but I’ve been assured all is in order in that regard. Now, if you don’t mind, Hel, we have some investigating to do. It’s half-past seven, shouldn’t you be thinking of lying flat out on the couch, watching your soaps by now?’
Helen stands up, stares at Eddie long enough to make everybody in the office cringe a little, and then turns back around to swipe her leather coat from the back of the chair. She folds it over her arm, stares again at her husband, and then storms towards the exit.
19:25
Ingrid
I don’t want to look at them. Any of them.
Ciara hasn’t stopped talking; about her mam, about school, about me. As if her life is all rosy. It’s mad how well she’s hiding it all. Though I shouldn’t be surprised. Ciara’s always hidden her sadness well. She hid it from me for years.
‘You’re hilarious,’ my mum says, laughing at something Ciara said that I didn’t listen to because I was thinking… thinking about leaving this house for the last time ever. I’m standing in the middle of the room, staring at my shoes, making a small laughing sound every now and then just to pretend I’m listening.
‘You right then?’ Ciara says, nudging me. I stare up at her, offer my best half smile and then nod my head. I decide not to look at them. Dad won’t notice anyway, he’s too busy studying his notes.
‘Okay, you two, enjoy yourselves. And don’t come back too late, Ingrid. School in the morning,’ Mum says as she holds her hand to my shoulder. I pause, just for a second, and place my hand on top of hers. And then it’s gone. I don’t say anything. I just zip up my tracksuit top up and head towards the door, passing Sven without looking at him. We were supposed to spend our last day at home with our family. But I just stayed up in my bedroom for most of the day.
I close the door slowly, still only half-believing that I’ll never set foot back in that house again; that I’ll never see my mum. My dad. Sven. But I know deep inside my own heart that this is for the best. They don’t want a mopey, depressed teenager living with them. Once they’re over the shock, they’ll be okay. They might even be happier without me. I’m pretty sure I’m a burden to them all anyway.
‘What did you say to your parents?’ I whisper to Ciara as we walk down my garden path.
She puffs a small laugh out of her nose.
‘Nothing. My dad wasn’t in all day — surprise, surprise. My mam was… go on have a guess, where was she?’
‘Sitting at the kitchen island drinking a glass of wine.’
‘A bottle. That’s what we say, Ingrid. A bottle!’
I sniff a laugh out of my nose this time. It’s so weird knowing what we are up to and still feeling as if I want to laugh. Maybe I feel relaxed enough to laugh because I know we’ve made the right decision. Or maybe I’m laughing because I don’t think we’ll actually go through with our pact. I’ve been changing my mind all day. Though most of the time I’ve been thinking the right thing to do is to end it all. I don’t enjoy living. I really don’t. It’s my thoughts. They keep getting on top of me. Dad. Mam. Sven. Stitch. Ciara. Every time I’m alone and thinking, I realise my life is really sad. Too sad to continue with.
‘So what did you say to her?’
‘I hugged her.’
‘You wha’?’ I say, hearing the thick Dublin in my accent. I never sound thick Dublin. My family are way too posh. They kicked all of the Dublin out of me.
‘Don’t know what I was thinking. I just told her I was going to your house and she didn’t even turn around to look at me. She just threw her hand in the air and kinda waved it. Bitch. I shudda just left then and there, but I couldn’t. So I stood in the doorway of the kitchen, staring at the back of her head as she drank her wine. Then I just ran towards her, threw my arms around her waist.’
My mouth opens. I can feel my bottom lip hang out.
‘Sure, you’re not supposed to give it away. No suspicion, that’s what we agreed to.’
‘Don’t worry. She didn’t have any suspicion. She doesn’t think about anyone but herself.’
‘What did she say when you hugged her?’
‘She gave out that I nearly spilt her wine.’
I laugh. There it is again. Me laughing… as if everything is normal.
‘Then what?’
‘I walked away from her, threw my hand in the air and waved. Two minutes later I was ringing your doorbell.’
‘You were early. Thought you were coming to change your mind.’
‘None of that!’ Ciara says, giving me an angry look. ‘We don’t talk about changing our minds. It’s part of the pact.’
I hold my hands up, purse my lips and then stop walking.
‘Ciara. I’m one hundred per cent in,’ I say. ‘I can’t… I don’t… I don’t want to live anymore. It’s… it’s…’ I shake. Not just my head, my whole body.
Ciara steps towards me, wraps both her arms around my shoulders and drags me in close. Our noses are touching. As if we’re about to kiss.
‘I know, I know,’ she says.
Of course she knows. We talked about nothing else all last night.
One thing’s for certain, Ciara won’t change her mind. She’s been suicidal a lot longer than me. In fact, I think she’s just been waiting on my sadness to catch up with hers so we could do this together. I didn’t say that to her last night. But I’ve thought about it a lot today. It doesn’t change anything, though. I think I still want to do it. I really want my mind to turn off. I know now how Ciara has been feeling for the past couple years. It’s horrible. Really, really horrible. It feels like such a heavy weight on top of your head. There’s only one way to lift that weight off. Stop the mind from working. Stop thinking altogether.
‘Ready for the last supper?’ I say.
Ciara’s eyebrows twitch. Then she laughs.
‘Been looking forward to it all day,’ she says.
She throws her arm through mine, swivelling into me and we link as we turn from Castlewood Avenue onto Rathmines’ Main Road.
‘It’s going to be really tough isn’t it?’ I say. ‘The whole saying goodbye without saying goodbye thing.’
Ciara turns to me, then shrugs her shoulder.
‘Once we know that we visited them for the last time and kinda gave them all one last hug, that’s enough. It’s why we’re doing it, isn’t it? So they know that they meant something to us. We jus
t need to act cool, as if we’re just… y’know… dropping by. We’re the only ones who’ll know it’s our last goodbye. They won’t know a thing.’
‘Just dropping by to Miss Moriarty’s house?’ I say. Then we both laugh again. This is mad.
‘We discussed last night what we’d say at Miss Moriarty’s house. Y’know… that we happened to be in the area she lives in so thought we’d knock on her door.’
I poke out my chin.
‘Guess so,’ I say. ‘Gonna miss her the most probably.’
‘Yeah, I kinda love Miss Moriarty. That’s why she’s on our list of last goodbyes though, isn’t it? I’ll miss either her or Debbie the most. Or you.’
We stop walking to stare at each other and hold hands. Both of them. I can feel tears come up behind my eyes. I’ve no idea if Ciara is feeling the same. She doesn’t cry. Ever. I’ve done enough crying for both of us over the years.
‘I’m gonna miss you too. So much.’
Then we hug. Really tightly. I know we’ll hug again before we finally do it. But this feels quite final. We’ve been walking and talking for ten minutes now. Neither of us are backing out. Neither of us have let the day change our minds. This hug tells us everything. We’re both ready for this. Our pact won’t be broken.
‘Tell ye what I’m also gonna really miss,’ Ciara says.
I laugh before I answer. Because I know the answer.
‘Macari’s chilli chips.’
She drags me in close, kisses my forehead and spins me so that we’re both linking each other again. Then we head straight towards the chipper; towards our last supper.
19:35
Greta
‘That was weird.’
The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3) Page 2