The Suicide Pact (The Tick-Tock Trilogy Book 3)

by David B Lyons

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ Charlie says, ‘I can see why you are so passionate about saving these girls. Suicide… it’s … it’s such a waste of life—’ Charlie holds his hand up to his mouth. ‘Oh, I’m so sorry. I meant… I meant, if only they could be stopped…’

  ‘I know what you mean, Charlie,’ Helen says, taking her stare away from the lights. ‘And you’re right. I think how much of a waste of life suicide is every single day of my life. That’s been every day for twenty-two years.’

  Charlie winces a little as he clicks down the gears to turn off the canal road; at the Harold’s Cross junction.

  ‘It was the same as these two girls… him and his friends, they must have made a pact.’

  The vibration of Charlie’s phone ringing in the cup holder halts Helen. She reaches for it and without even looking to see who’s ringing, presses at the green button and brings the phone to her ear. Then she stretches across Charlie, flicking at the button that makes the sirens blare up again.

  ‘Hello, Detective Helen Brennan speaking,’ she shouts, holding one finger to her opposite ear.

  ‘Detective Brennan, my name is Trevor Halpin, I am the site manager of St Joseph’s CBS… I just received your voicemail, is everything okay at the school?’

  ‘Trevor, I need to speak with the school’s Headteacher right away, I need you to give me his contact details.’

  ‘Brother Fitzpatrick is his name,’ he says. ‘Is everything okay, sounds like something bad has happened.’

  ‘Nothing bad has happened yet, Trevor, and only Brother Fitzpatrick can help stop something bad from happening. We need him to identify a school student as soon as possible. Tell me, Trevor, where does Fitzpatrick live?’

  ‘Jesus, Mary and Joseph,’ Trevor says, ‘I hope the student is okay. Eh… hold on for a second. He doesn’t live that far from the school. I have his details in my phone… gimme a sec.’

  Helen winks over at Charlie, then waves her hand up and down, signalling that Charlie should slow his driving.

  ‘Parkview Avenue, number one-three-six,’ Trevor says. ‘A little cul de sac, y’know those old Victorian style houses off the main road?’

  ‘Gotcha, Trevor. Thanks for your help.’

  Helen hangs up the call, then taps into the Maps app and punches in the address that had just been read out to her.

  ‘Do a U-turn, Charlie, then it’s the second left.’

  Charlie causes the wheels to smoke as he swings around.

  ‘He’s got to know him. If the kid lives around here, the Headteacher of the school has to know who he is. We just had the wrong area when we spoke to the first Headteacher.’ Helen slaps her palm off her knee, excitement beginning to grow inside of her.

  ‘One-three-six, one-three-six,’ she repeats as Charlie inches the car down Parkview Avenue, switching the sirens off. ‘There it is,’ Helen says, pointing. She clicks at her seatbelt, jumps out of the car whilst it’s still moving and sprints — in her own unique way — across the street. Charlie doesn’t even bother parking; he leaves the car — lights show still on — in the middle of the road and paces after Helen; catching up with her just before she presses at the doorbell. No one comes to the door.

  ‘Brother Fitzpatrick,’ she shouts as she bangs at the knocker. ‘I am Detective Helen Brennan, I need to speak with you as a matter of urgency.’

  She stands back, takes in all of the windows.

  ‘Bollocks,’ she whispers over her shoulder to Charlie when she realises nobody’s home.

  Charlie rubs at the back of his head as Helen makes her way to the window, clasping her hands either side of her eyes to peer into the darkness.

  ‘Not a sign of life. Fuck it,’ she says, turning around, to be met by the face of an elderly woman, waiting at the gate.

  ‘Ye won’t find him at home, not at this time o’ the evenin’,’ she says.

  Charlie takes a step towards the woman.

  ‘Where would we find him, ma’am?’

  ‘Same place as always,’ she says. ‘The Horse and Jockey.’

  ‘A pub?’ Helen asks.

  ‘Yep, not far from here. It’s on the other side of those houses. Better off walking. If ye take the car, you’ve to go round the Wrekin… but there’s a lane way over there ye can cut through. You’d be there in five minutes.’

  Helen walks towards the woman and places the palm of her hand on her shoulder.

  ‘Thank you, miss.’ Then she turns to Charlie. ‘Park the car up. We’re going for a little walk.’

  21:05

  Ingrid

  Harriet looks happy. She always looks happy. I really don’t know why though. She’s had so much pain in her life. Much more pain than I’ve ever had. But she seems to be able to get over it. She’s got a strength I know I will never have. I’ve tried. I’ve tried to be strong like her, but it’s not me. I guess everybody just has different minds, even if they do share the same blood.

  ‘Hey, good to see you two,’ she says as she hugs me. Then she hugs Ciara. She knows Ciara a bit. Not that well. But whenever Harriet has hung around in my house, Ciara is normally there. Me and Ciara often talk about Harriet; we say how cool it would be to be just like her. And we both agree that we never will.

  She has a hooped nose ring that we know would look stupid on us. If we walked into school trying to dress the way Harriet does, we’d be laughed at until we raced out of the classroom with embarrassment. She wears clothes like Indians do. Not Indian people that live in India. Indians that live in America. She always seems to have a poncho on over her shoulders; a different coloured one almost every time I see her. Today it’s brown with light blue stripes. And she’s wearing long trousers that are so wide at the end that they cover her shoes. Mum says those type of trousers used to be big in the seventies. They have a name, but I can’t remember it.

  ‘Great to see you too,’ I say. ‘We just thought we’d pop in to say hello.’

  Harriet gives me a big smile, then points to the sofa; right next to where Uncle Brendan is sitting.

  ‘Take a seat,’ she says. ‘Can I get you anything?’

  We both shake our heads and plonk ourselves on the sofa. I’m not really sure what to say. Here we are, trying to say goodbye to somebody we love without letting them know we’ll never see them again. It seemed like an easier thing to do when I came up with the idea last night. It was me who added it into our pact; I felt I couldn’t end it all without paying the people I love one final visit.

  ‘Don’t you two have school in the mornin’?’ Uncle Brendan says taking his eyes off the tele.

  I sit more forward on the sofa so I can look at him.

  ‘Yes, we do. But we were visiting a friend of Ciara’s who lives nearby and said we’d pop in to see Harriet. To see you both.’ Uuugh. I hate lying. But maybe I’m getting good at it. That’s about my fourth lie today.

  Uncle Brendan nods, then looks back at the tele. I’m not sure what it is he’s watching.

  I feel sad for Uncle Brendan. Always have. Aunt Peggy died when I was just three. It must be coming up to ten years now. Cancer she had. I don’t really remember her that much. If it wasn’t for the photos I don’t think I’d have a face in my mind for Aunt Peggy at all. Harriet was only eight when her mam died. That’s why it confuses me that she’s always happy.

  ‘Where’s your friend live?’ Harriet asks Ciara.

  ‘Eh…’

  ‘Up in St Michael’s Estate,’ I say, jumping in. Lying again.

  ‘Jaysus, I don’t want you two up there in that estate at this time of the evening… are yis mad?’ Uncle Brendan says. He doesn’t look away from the tele this time. He’s just sitting there, slouched into the sofa, his two hands on top of his big belly. ‘Yer mammy and daddy know you were there?’

  ‘We eh… we were with my mam. She just dropped us off here so we could say hello to Harriet,’ Ciara says.

  I feel a bit of relief in my body. Ciara ended Uncle Brendan’s questions with one sentence. Maybe
I’m not that good at lying. Certainly not better than her anyway. The last thing we need right now is Uncle Brendan ringing Mum and Dad to check up on me. Aunt Peggy was Dad’s sister. Dad took ages getting over her death. Almost as if he took it personally. He ran a marathon to raise money for a cancer charity the year after she died and raised fifty-five thousand pound. That’s a huge amount of money. He talks about it all the time — more than he actually talks about Aunt Peggy.

  I can feel Harriet stare over at me from the chair she’s sitting in. She’s so clever. I wouldn’t be surprised if she knows we’ve been lying. I turn to look at her and she nods her head towards the stairs.

  ‘Wanna go up to my room? Three of us can have a girly talk?’

  I’m off the sofa before I even say ‘yes’, Ciara following me.

  It’s a tiny house is Brendan and Harriet’s. Especially compared to our homes. The hallway is barely a hallway. There’s only enough room for a tiny table that the house phone sits on. The kitchen doesn’t even have room for a table. It’s only about the size of our downstairs toilet. That’s why I often say to Ciara that poorer people are happier. If you’re in my house, you can sometimes hear Mum and Dad argue. If you’re in Ciara’s, you’re almost guaranteed to hear her mum and dad argue. That’s if her dad is in. But here — in Harriet’s — it’s always quiet, even though the house is tiny. She’s much closer with her dad than me and Ciara. It kinda makes me jealous a little bit. Only I don’t mean anything bad about being jealous of Harriet. I love her too much to have any bad feelings for her. She’s always been a cool cousin. The only cool cousin I have. She’s five years older than me, but she has always spoken to me as if I am the same as her. Nobody else in my life does that. Cept for Ciara.

  ‘What’s up with you two?’ Harriet asks as she holds the door to her bedroom open for us to walk into under her arm.

  It’s a super cool bedroom she has. She’s into the coolest old bands. Bands I’ve barely even heard of. There’s a picture of two crazy lookin’ fellas with crazy hair cuts from a band called Oasis over her bed. And another one of a weird looking blond fella called Kurt Cobain.

  ‘Eh… nothing much. Same stuff,’ I say.

  She looks at me with a funny face then shuts the door.

  ‘Don’t give me that. You can’t lie to me, Ingrid. I can see right through you. It’s this boy, isn’t it? What-his-name again, funny name he had?’

  I look at Ciara, then rub at my nose.

  ‘Stitch,’ I say.

  ‘That’s it! Stitch. Because he had one stitch in his lip one day in school that was hanging out, right? What did he do on you?’

  I look at Ciara again. I’m not sure what to say. Or really, I’m not sure how much to say.

  I can see Ciara tapping her shoes off the carpet. She’s nervous too. Maybe coming to say goodbye to Harriet wasn’t the best idea. She might get everything out of us. She’s too bloody clever.

  ‘G’wan,’ Ciara says sighing, ‘tell her what happened with Stitch last night.’

  21:10

  Ciara

  Shit. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. Harriet is too intelligent. She might make Ingrid cave in and tell her everything.

  I can feel Ingrid staring at me; trying to get a hint from me about how she should answer Harriet’s question. So I look back at her and before I can even stop myself, the words come out of my mouth.

  ‘G’wan, tell her what happened with Stitch last night,’ I say.

  Bleedin’ hell. I hope she doesn’t tell her everything. Because Harriet will talk her down; will make her feel better. Ingrid will refuse to do this… refuse to kill herself with me. And we need to do it. We need to do it tonight. We can’t let anyone change our minds.

  ‘We were at a party last night. He made fun of me in front of everybody in our school year,’ Ingrid says.

  ‘The little bollix,’ Harriet says. I laugh. Then hold my hand up in apology to Ingrid. It’s the way Harriet says things sometimes.

  Ingrid sits herself on the edge of Harriet’s bed. ‘Me and him, we were… we were supposed to go to the party together to let people know we were… y’know…’

  ‘Boyfriend and girlfriend?’ Harriet says.

  As Ingrid nods her answer, I sit beside her.

  My head is talking to me as I sit. In fact, not just talking to me. It’s screaming at me. It’s telling me I should interrupt Ingrid. She might say too much. I know what Stitch said last night isn’t the only reason she wants to kill herself. But it is the reason she finally agreed to do it. So talking about it — giving Harriet the chance to mend her broken heart — might make Ingrid change her mind about ending it all. Only I don’t know what I can say to stop her.

  ‘He wouldn’t even look at me the whole night. He was too busy mucking around with all those eejits he hangs out with.’ I look up at Harriet and notice she is pulling one of those faces. Like a sympathy face; her lips closed tight, her eyes squinting. ‘And when I tried to talk to him, he just sort of hushed me away. He was like… I don’t know… he’s a different person when it’s just me and him.’

  ‘Boys,’ Harriet says. ‘They’re all like that. It’s not just when you’re thirteen. Boys are different around their mates than they are their girlfriends their whole lives. All my fellas have been like that. Boys are dopes.’

  ‘How many boyfriends you had, Harriet?’ I ask. I already know the answer. She’s on her fourth. She told us that before. But maybe asking this will help change the conversation.

  ‘Four,’ she says. ’Just finished with Conor there a couple weeks ago.’

  ‘Finished?’ I ask.

  ‘Same thing. Too immature. Was always changing plans when we were to meet up and stuff. Did me head in in the end. He started crying like a baby when I dumped him. Told him it was all his own fault.’ She turns to Ingrid and rubs at her knee. ‘This won’t be your first heartbreak, honey, trust me. Specially someone who looks like you.’

  I look down at my lap. It’s always awkward for me when people mention looks. I know I’m not the prettiest. Never will be. But sometimes I think the better looking you are, the more attention you get from the boys. And who would ever want that?

  ‘Boys don’t notice me,’ Ingrid says.

  Harriet tips her head back and laughs.

  ‘Yeah right? Ciara, do all the boys fancy her or wha’?’

  I shoot my head up and twist my neck to look at Ingrid. Then I laugh a little and nod my head.

  ‘Course they do,’ I say. But I’m lying. The boys don’t fancy Ingrid. I don’t know why. She’s probably the prettiest in the class. Either her or Tiffany Byrne. But the boys never seem to mention Ingrid. Or notice her at all. I think it’s cause she hangs out with me. We’re seen as the two little quiet weirdos.

  ‘No they don’t,’ Ingrid says, making a funny face at me. I just shrug my shoulder. I wasn’t really sure what to say. The truth? That my fat cheeks puts all the boys off her too?

  ‘So where were yis last night?’ Harriet asks.

  ‘A guy in our year had a free house; his mum and dad were away for the weekend,’ Ingrid says. ‘Mum took a lot of persuading to let us go, but she did in the end. Told her it was a normal birthday party and that his parents would be there. About fifty people from our year turned up. We weren’t really invited. Stitch and his mates were, so I asked Stitch if it was cool if we went too, so me and him could kind of…’

  ‘Come out?’ Harriet says.

  Ingrid nods her head.

  ‘But it just ended up with me and Ciara standing in the corner all night, eating bloody Cheesy Puffs.’

  ‘I love Cheesy Puffs,’ I say, before I realise what I’ve said. Harriet looks at me and laughs a little through her nose.

  ‘So, what happened… did you confront him?’ Harriet asks, turning back to Ingrid.

  ‘It was when the slow music came on, wasn’t it?’ I say.

  Ingrid nods.

  ‘Yeah, the fella whose gaff it was, he had music playing all
night. Then it switched to slow songs, so that the boyfriends and girlfriends could get up and dance together. I didn’t know what to do. I was really nervous. And the room was so quiet because the music was so low. I just… I just walked up to him and tried to hold his hand.’ I can feel Ingrid’s insides cry, she almost bends herself over in two while sitting on the edge of the bed. ‘He just looked at me as if he hated me. “What the fuck are ye doing?” he said. “Get your bleedin’ hands off me you… ye fuckin smell like fish fingers”.’

  I look up at Harriet and notice her face go all funny.

  ‘Fishfingers?’ she says.

  ‘There’s always been this thing,’ I say, ‘that Ingrid smells of fish fingers because she’s half Swedish. It’s been going on for years… from when we started Primary School.’

  ‘Fishfingers?’ Harriet says again, this time really high-pitched.

  ‘We don’t get it either. It doesn’t even make any sense.’

  Ingrid sniffs some wet snot back up her nose.

  ‘And then everybody just laughed. Really loudly,’ she sobs.

  ‘Ohhh… Ingrid.’

  Harriet walks over to her, kneels down and gives her a big hug.

  I hope she doesn’t make Ingrid feel better. Well… better enough to not want to do what we plan to do. We better not have said too much already.

  ◈

  Charlie has to almost jog to keep up with the wide-open strides of Helen.

  ‘Jaysus, I hope he knows this kid,’ he says, bounding up behind her.

  ‘If the kid is from this area, then he’ll definitely know him. We just needed to find the right Headteacher is all. We had the wrong area earlier on. But now we’ve got it. I’m sure of it.’

  They cut through a narrow side entry — squeezing up a gap between an overgrown bush and a semi-detached home — and on towards the laneway the neighbour had pointed them to.