‘Good boy, Charlie.’
He creases his brow again. Then realises Helen is already halfway across the road, heading back to the car. He jogs again to catch up with her.
‘Do you mind if I ask you a question, Detective Brennan?’ he says.
She doesn’t answer as she opens the passenger door and swoops her way inside the car.
When Charlie gets in to the driver’s seat, buckles up his belt and ignites the engine, he turns to her.
‘How did you know the call came from here, from somewhere along the tram tracks between Drimnagh and Inchicore?’
Helen stares straight out the windscreen.
‘You’ve already asked me that… five times.’
Charlie squirms a little before he shoves the gear stick into reverse and pulls out of the parking space.
‘Sirens,’ Helen says.
‘Really?’ Charlie’s brow creases again.
When he doesn’t get an answer, he flicks the button next to the steering wheel that allows a loud blare to sound from the car and suddenly the speedometer jumps from twenty miles an hour to sixty in the space of five seconds.
‘It’s just… if I wanna be a Detective, I’d love to learn from you,’ he shouts over the sirens.
Helen turns her face and looks him up and down before taking her gaze back through the windscreen. ‘You will,’ she shouts back.
Charlie smiles to himself. His first smile of the day. He’s been frustrated with life. Had become an insurance broker straight from school; working at a small brokers called Fullams before realising he hadn’t one Goddamn care about insurance in any capacity. It took two-and-a-half years for him to realise that. When he noticed the Gardaí advertising for new recruits, he assumed a life solving crime would take him out of the boredom of office work. But after landing a job in Terenure Garda station straight after his graduation, he was longing to be back helping people renew their car insurance policies. He hates being a cop, is sick of every colleague at his station talking down to him. The egos he has come across as a Garda stagger him. He can’t comprehend why those trusted the most to be as impartial as possible in society possess such vanity. But perhaps he was about to catch a break. If he were to assist Helen in solving a case everybody else was poo-pooing, he might buy himself some credibility. Maybe he could become one of them; somebody who didn’t have to wear a fucking tie.
When the siren dies down, so too does Charlie’s smile. He leaps out of the car, fixes his hat to his odd-shaped head and makes his way to the front office of the Luas headquarters without even looking back at Helen. He’s feeling determined now; transfixed on earning that credibility.
He holds the door open for Helen who scoots by him without thanking him. Then she holds an open palm towards the young woman at the front desk.
‘Detective Brennan and Officer…’ she turns around, stares at Charlie.
‘Guilfoyle,’ he says.
‘We need to speak with the person in charge of your CCTV.’
The young woman gulps, eyeballs Charlie’s uniform and then picks up her phone.
‘Can you tell Larry I have two police officers in the reception please.’
‘He’s coming straight away,’ she says to Helen after placing the receiver back down.
Helen takes one step backwards and stands straight and tall as she waits, her arms shovelled deep into her coat pockets. Charlie looks around the pokey reception area and begins to read the work notices on the board. He feels he should look busy, as if he is investigating. He wants to impress Helen. Though he hasn’t one darn clue what he’s looking for. He’s hardly going to solve the mystery of the anonymous phone call by reading staff notices about a new training initiative for tram drivers. After cringing a little, he steps back towards Helen and stands as straight as he can to at least try to match her for height.
‘What the fuck were you doing?’ Helen whispers.
Charlie turns his head sideways, stares at the unusual face beside him and then shrugs his shoulders. The door flying open saves him from his discomfort.
‘Officers, I’m Larry Hanrahan, how can I help you?’ says a tall, skinny bald chap in a purple shirt.
‘We need to view the CCTV footage of your Drimnagh and Goldenbridge stops between six thirty and seven o’clock this evening,’ Helen says.
Larry nods his head once, then holds the door he had just come through open, waving both Helen and Charlie through.
As the three of them pace down an overly warm corridor, Helen taps Larry on the shoulder of his purple shirt.
‘I assume, Mr Hanrahan, judging by the fact that you haven’t said anything, no other officers have come to you today to view this footage?’
Larry’s eyes widen a little.
‘No,’ he says shaking his head. ‘Why, what’s going on?’
‘Police inquiries, Mr Hanrahan. The case is confidential right now, but there are two separate teams looking into the same case today — two different lines of enquiries. So I assume we won’t be the only team calling by this evening.’
Larry purses his thin lips.
‘Whatever you guys need,’ he says. Then he pushes down on the handle of a heavy door and heaves his way through to a tiny room packed with computer screens.
‘Kristine,’ this is eh… this is…’
‘Officer Guilfoyle and Detective Brennan from eh… well, I am from Terenure Garda station, Detective Brennan here is from Rathmines,’ Charlie says.
Kristine stands and stares at Helen as if she was staring a creature from another planet.
‘They need to view footage from the Red line, the CCTV from Drimnagh and Goldenbridge stops please,’ Larry says.
He approaches Kristine’s desk, scribbles some notes on her yellow post-it pad and then stands back a little. Helen strides forward, standing beside Larry and watches as Kristine stabs her chunky fingers at her keyboard.
‘Kay, so between six thirty and seven, hmmm…’ Kristine mumbles to herself. ‘Right, this screen here,’ she says slapping a monitor to her left, ‘is footage from the Drimnagh stop from six thirty onwards and this one here,’ she slaps at the monitor to her right, ‘that’s Goldenbridge from the same time.’
Helen eyeballs Charlie, then nods her head towards the screen on the right. Charlie steps forward and stares at it. And then Helen does the same on the other side.
‘S’what we looking for, Detective Brennan?’ Charlie asks.
Helen stares at him almost cross-eyed, making him feel like an idiot again.
‘What do you think, Charlie? C’mon, you said you wanted to be a Detective when you grow up. What do you think we’re looking for?’
Charlie’s shoulders shrink. He looks down, straightens his tie, even though it doesn’t need straightening, and then gulps.
‘A eh… a young man making a phone call from a mobile phone?’
‘Bingo,’ Helen says.
19:55
Ingrid
‘Isn’t it mad to think nobody knows where we are, that nobody’s looking for us? I almost feel… what’s-the-word?’
‘Free?’ Ciara says.
I nod my head. Yeah. I think that’s the word I mean. Free. In control. As if we don’t have to answer to anybody for the first time ever. I’m actually enjoying this. But I know I only feel free because of what we’re about to do. If we weren’t gonna kill ourselves in a few hours time then I wouldn’t feel like this. If I had to go back home and wake up and go to school tomorrow then there’s no way I’d be feeling this… what’s-the-word… content. Yeah, that’s it. I feel content. Maybe it’s because I know we’ve made the right decision. I bet that’s why we’ve been laughing and joking a lot. We’re happy with the decision we made.
I turn my face back around and look out the window as the bus shakes its way down the canal road. Ciara just seems to be staring into her lap. She’s gone a little quiet. In fact we’ve both been quiet since we left the chipper about fifteen minutes ago.
‘I feel free too,’ she whisper
s. I turn to look at her, grab her hand and clench it really tight. Then I bring her knuckles towards my face and kiss them.
‘I love you, Ciara Joyce,’ I say.
She smiles at me.
‘I love you Ingrid Murphy, ye mad thing,’ she says.
We both laugh. And then both sigh after we’re done laughing.
I return my stare out the window and look into the darkness. Stitch keeps coming into my mind, but I don’t want to let him in there. He’s been in there way too long and doesn’t deserve it. The words he said to me last night keep repeating over and over and over. I need to stop thinking. Maybe I should continue talking to Ciara. The silences will just drive me mad. Even if I do only have about four hours left of the madness.
‘It’s only two more stops, isn’t it?’ I ask.
‘Yup,’ she pops out of her mouth,
‘So, do you know what you’re going to say to her?’
Ciara sticks out her bottom lip, then shakes her head.
‘It’s just about… y’know… her realising that I called by to say goodbye, even if I don’t—’
‘Actually say goodbye!’
She huffs out a small laugh, then looks up at me again and smiles. I’m used to this; Ciara’s moods being up and down. I’m never really certain when I knock for Ciara in the mornings before we go to school just what Ciara I’ll be walking to school with. Some days she’s buzzing; laughing and joking all the way there. Other days she just has her chin resting into her chest, staring down at her clunky shoes as she walks. She’s been like that for years. Is never going to change. Some days she’s a cross between both moods; can be buzzing one minute, staring at her shoes the next. I’ve tried to work out what it would feel like to be depressed, but only last night did it really sink in. Then I think of Stitch again and I have to shake my head to get rid of his words.
‘What you shaking for?’ Ciara asks.
‘Nothing. Just eh… just looking out the window here, staring at all these houses.’
‘A lot smaller than our gaffs aren’t they?’ she says.
I nod.
‘Yeah. Imagine living in one of them. They’re tiny.’
‘Bet they have better lives though. I bet the kids in those houses aren’t going to kill themselves tonight are they?’
I stare at Ciara and hold my lips tight together. She’s right. Dead right. I mean, we have everything we could possibly want. Both of us live on a lovely street, in massive big houses. Ciara’s gaff has six bedrooms, ours has five. And we don’t even need them. Neither of our families do. There are literally rooms in our homes that we never walk into; that we never use. Ciara’s dad is stinking rich. He owns about ten different accountancy and insurance businesses. My parents aren’t poor either. My dad’s been a big name in broadcasting for about twenty years. I don’t know whether I’d call him rich, but we’re certainly not poor. Dad drives a brand new Mercedes. Black it is. Mam has a red Mini Cooper. He’s got to be doing well. Having your own show on RTE radio must pay good money, I guess.
We’re lucky, Ciara and I. Or at least we should be lucky. But I guess our lives prove it: money can’t make you happy. There are kids at our school who go around in ripped runners and who live in tiny little gaffs like these and they’re a hundred times happier than me and Ciara. It’s always annoyed me when people at school say they want to be surgeons or lawyers when they grow up because they want to be rich. Having a big job that pays lots of money isn’t a good ambition. My dad barely listens to me because he’s too busy planning for his show. Ciara’s dad doesn’t listen to her because he’s never home. If I was going to grow up I wouldn’t want a big job. My ambition would be to pay my children as much attention as I possibly can. That’s being a proper parent. A proper adult. I wouldn’t care if I was earning a hundred pound a week or a thousand. I’d only care that I was loving my children. Anyway. It doesn’t matter. I’ll never be a parent. Will never need a career. And that’s all fine by me. Cos I don’t want any of that stuff.
‘Here we are,’ Ciara says standing up. She presses at the bell and suddenly the bus is pulling in for us.
‘Thanks, mister,’ Ciara says to the driver. I just nod my head at him and offer a half smile.
We both leap off the step and then turn left, towards Debbie’s. I’ve never called to her house before but Ciara has pointed it out to me. It’s a tiny little gaff; the type of house happy people live in. Debbie is really nice. She practically raised Ciara until sometime last year when, because Ciara was going to secondary school, her mum felt she no longer needed a nanny. Debbie minds three other children now, in Rialto I think it is. That hurts Ciara. I know it does.
‘It’s that one there with the blue door isn’t it?’ I say.
Ciara nods her head and then pushes at the gate that leads us into Debbie’s tiny garden. It’s no bigger than the small room under our stairs that mum keeps all the cleaning stuff in.
Then Ciara holds her finger to the doorbell and we wait until we see Debbie’s figure through the frosted glass.
‘What the hell are you two doing here?’ she says when she answers.
20:05
Ciara
I skip from one foot to the other as I wait for her to answer the door. Haven’t seen her in ages. I’m a little excited. I think I am anyway. I’ve never really been able to tell exactly how I’m feeling. I’ve always been like that.
‘What the hell are you two doing here?’ she says when she finally answers. My heart sinks. I thought she’d be delighted to see me.
I look at Ingrid then back up at Debbie.
‘I eh… I…’
She opens her door further and stands to the side.
‘C’min, girls. But you can’t really stay long. I have a friend coming soon. Thought you were him.’
She shuts the door, and I stare at her. She’s barely dressed. She only has a black bra and a pair of matching knickers on. They’re pretty knickers; they have a little pink bow on the front of them. She must have been getting dressed when we knocked. Maybe that’s why she was a little bit upset at first.
Then she holds her arms wide for me and I walk into them. I smell her perfume as we hug, then I rest my chin on her shoulder and try to stop myself from crying.
‘Long time no see,’ she whispers into my ear.
‘Hey, Ingrid,’ she says as she releases me. She offers Ingrid a high five and then takes a step back, her hands on her hips. She looks… pretty. Really pretty. Like one of those girls you see in magazines. I’ve never thought of Debbie as pretty before. When she used to mind me she’d wear some oversized jumpers in different colours; normally dark colours like grey or black. Or navy. Mostly navy, I think. And she never wore make up. She seems to have lots on today.
‘S’wot you two doing here?’
‘We eh… we…’ I look at Ingrid.
‘We were just in the neighbourhood. I have a friend who lives close by and Ciara said she’d love to pop by to see you… as a little surprise,’ Ingrid says.
Debbie takes one step to the side and leans to look through to her sitting room.
‘Well, it’s lovely to see you. I eh—’
‘We won’t stay long,’ I say. ‘Just wanted to say hi and that I miss you.’
Debbie smiles. I miss that smile. I used to see it every day. Now some other snotty little kids get to see it every day.
‘I miss you too. Course I do. I think about you all the time.’
Then I smile. At Debbie first. Then at Ingrid. Ingrid will know just how much it means to me that Debbie told me she thinks about me all the time.
The three of us stand smiling at each other in Debbie’s hallway. Then the silence goes on a little bit too long. I don’t know what to say. I’m here to say goodbye without saying goodbye. Where do I even begin?
‘How about a quick glass of squash, then?’ Debbie says. ‘I’m sorry, but yis can’t stay long.’
‘Have you blackcurrant squash?’ Ingrid asks.
De
bbie turns around and walks into her kitchen. We both follow. It’s tiny in here. You wouldn’t even fit the island we have in our kitchen in this entire room.
‘Don’t you eh… want to finish getting dressed?’ I say as Debbie roots around in a cabinet.
‘Yes!’ she says turning around. ‘I do have blackcurrant.’ She holds it up and then looks down at herself. ‘Yeah… tell you what, the glasses are there drying by the sink. Fill one for yourselves and I’ll be back in a second.’
Ingrid reaches for a glass and begins to run the tap.
‘She seems different,’ I whisper when Debbie has left.
Ingrid looks back at me, nods her head once. Then she picks up the bottle of squash and pours some into her glass before downing it all in one go.
‘Those chilli chips sure are salty,’ she says. ‘You having a glass?’
I shake my head.
‘Nah, I’m alright.’
I feel weird. Really weird. Though maybe I’m supposed to feel weird, seeing as me and my best friend are going to kill ourselves tonight… but I didn’t feel this weird on the bus coming out here. There’s something odd about Debbie.
I turn and head towards the sitting room to wait for her. Ingrid follows me.
‘We shouldn’t stay long, not if she has a friend coming over,’ Ingrid says to me.
Then I gulp. That’s why I feel weird. I know I’m going to say goodbye to Debbie in just a couple minutes for the last time ever. I love Debbie. Of course that’s why it feels weird… I think. I didn’t feel weird saying goodbye to my mam because I really don’t care about her. But Debbie… Debbie’s different. I love her. She’s always been good to me. Like a mother. Like a mother should be. I’m so jealous of the kids she minds these days. Jammy bastards.
Ingrid’s eyes widen. As if she’s just seen a ghost.
‘What?’ I ask. But she doesn’t answer because we hear Debbie run down the stairs.
‘Did yis get a drink?’ she says, tightening the belt of her bathrobe around her waist.
‘Thought you were getting dressed?’ I say.
The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3) Page 5